Beyond the Skies Collection
by Kneazle-Chan
Summary: A series of one-shots combining word prompts from the Internet with randomly chosen Xenoblade characters. Chapter 15: Under Pressure (Part 2) - "Have you ever played the game Chicken?"
1. Chapter 1

Hi, guys! I realize it's been a long time since I actually posted anything. I hope to get back into the swing of things. And here is what I've been working on: one-shots for Xenoblade Chronicles! It's an amazing story, and the soundtrack is one of the best out there.

Anyway, I've started a list of one word prompts I got from the Internet. And for every prompt, I used a randomizing generator to give me random characters to work with. I felt like that would make the interactions funner and a lot more interesting. The general rule I've set for myself is that the characters from the generator _have_ to appear in the fic, but I can bring in side characters to help move things along. Some one word prompts are repeated on the list, but that's partly my fault for not paying attention. Oh well. Who cares? These one-shots will mainly consist of discovering and building my head canons.

As for shipping: There will some slash, femslash, or boyxgirl. Whatever floats my boat at the time.

Now onto the first one! Hope you enjoy.

* * *

327\. Ink

Characters:Shulk, Alvis, Kallian, and Egil

The metal doors slid open with a gentle thrum. Egil entered Meyneth's library, manuscript under arm, and looked around for his companion. "Shulk?" he called. No response. Sighing in exasperation, Egil made his way to the center where study tables were, praying the blonde had remembered to limit himself to five books at a time.

No such luck. The center of the library looked like mountains had sprouted; towers of books piled the tables and littered the floor. His left eyelid twitched. He craned his neck around, but it was impossible to see through the walls of text. Text of which laid _scattered_ and _disorganized._

The twitch got worse, nostrils flared, and crimson eyes narrowed to slits, darkening with murderous intent.

He would ring the blonde fiend's neck.

"Shulk!" his bellow echoed through the room, rattling the precarious book piles, and causing a few files at the top to slip and splash their contents everywhere. Egil could feel a migraine forming behind his eyes.

"In here," a faint voice came from within the fortress.

"Clearly," Egil bit out. When it became clear Shulk wasn't going to present nor prostrate himself before the enraged Machina, Egil snarled, and maneuvered carefully between stacks. Spitting a choice swear as an encyclopedia nearly took off his head, Egil resolved to eviscerate the next living thing that crossed his path. Preferably Shulk.

Speaking of whom, Egil spotted a tuft of blonde hair moving behind a moderate stack of books. His resulting grin was a terrifying mixture of bared teeth and a building snarl. "Oh, Shulk," he sing-songed, rounding the corner, "If you do not give me a good explanation as to why all these books are out of place, I'll tear you limb from- what are you doing?"

Not sparing a glance at the baffled Machina, Shulk spat the pen cap out of his mouth, "Ran out of paper," was the explanation as the blonde continued to scribble on his bare arm. His long-sleeved black shirt and red vest were thrown over the back of a chair. Black, blue, and purple ink covered his entire torso and stomach, looking like a very outspoken bruise.

Shulk was glancing at the various notebooks and ancient, preserved sketches every now and then as he wrote or drew, switching out the colors when needed. Egil felt his anger drain, but the headache still clawed forth.

He pulled out another chair and sat with manuscript in lap, watching idly as he rubbed his temples. "You know, you could've just gotten more," he commented.

"Can't," was the absent reply, "Onto something."

Egil sighed. "Well, be sure to share with the class once you're done," he bit out though there no venom to it. Shulk acknowledged him with a head tilt, or that head tilt only meant he was calculating in his head. For his sanity, Egil would pretend it was the former.

He settled down to review their shared notes…

…And was promptly startled back to reality when a black pen was thrust into the spine of the manuscript. Red eyes met blue. "Do you have a steady hand?" the blonde questioned.

The Machina drew himself up, "What kind of question is that?" he retorted. All Machina had steady hands; they needed to since they constantly worked with machinery. Egil engineered the finer details of creating faced Mechon, for crying out loud!

"A stupid one, of course," Shulk backtracked immediately, "But I need you to copy this diagram and these notes on my back." The pale back was presented to him; the only unblemished part of the blonde's body.

Egil skimmed the papers Shulk had slid towards him. The diagram was of an old Machina prototype Junk that had been discarded due to there being little to no resources found for it on Mechonis. And the hurried notes of Shulk's made his vision blur.

"This might be the perfect time to fetch more paper," Egil declared. Yet he made no move to get up.

"But you won't," the blonde responded with an air of finality.

"What makes you so sure of that?" he challenged, fingering the pen. Insolent creature. He should shove the pen into its pale neck, and watch the blood spurt forth. But no, then the spray would get on Meyneth's books.

Egil reluctantly discarded the idea with a mental sigh.

"Because if you leave," Shulk said, blue eyes staring straight ahead with a hint of a smirk, "There are other parts of the library I have yet to explore."

His eyelid twitched. Cheeky brat!

"Very well," his tone was silky and promised revenge later. He braced a hand on the Hom's shoulder, digging his nails in slightly. The blonde flinched slightly and gasped.

Feeling rather than seeing the raised eyebrow, Shulk hurriedly explained, "Sorry, your hands are cold."

He didn't dignify that with a response.

As the Machina traced the lines, Shulk closed his eyes, gradually relaxing with a long exhale through his nose. This reminded him of the time he, Fiora, and Reyn would sometimes form a sitting line to trace messages or pictures on each other's backs when they were little. He especially liked it when Fiora would lightly draw a Nopon in a field of flowers. She would use her nail to scratch in some sort of imaginary detail, and Shulk would purposely not understand what it was so that she would have to retrace the entire picture.

Combined with his fascination of pens…if Homs had the ability to purr, Shulk would be the equivalent of a modern Junk engine- low and thrumming.

"What do you require this for?" Egil's question drew him from his reverie. Shulk yawned and slowly hunched his back to warn Egil that he was going to rest his head and crossed arms on the table. He hadn't realized how tired he felt, taken in utterly by a new project.

"Kallian wanted to compare High Entian and Machina airships. I was drafted because we're," Shulk gestured vaguely with his hand, "on speaking terms." Another yawn escaped him.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"I can run a little while longer."

"That wasn't an answer."

"It was supposed to be reassurance," a blue eye peeked upwards before a small sigh was let out, "Believe me, Egil, I'm fine. Power naps are normal for me."

The pen lifted, but the hand on his shoulder remained, "I will only finish if you promise me to get some rest when you leave."

"I told you-,"

The hand on his shoulder tightened its grip, "Please friend."

Shulk stilled. "Alright. I will."

"More than three hours?"

"You don't trust me?" he asked, feigning indignation.

"Not in the least," the Machina returned dryly.

"I promise friend." Egil's hand tightened once more on his shoulder before the pen resumed its black trail.

Minutes passed in relative silence, broken only when Egil needed help deciphering his handwriting, and the clacking of pens when Egil opted for his green correction ink.

"There!" Egil finished with a flourish.

"Great!" Shulk, halfway into dreamland, jolted back to reality, and moved to get up. He was stopped once more by the hand on his shoulder holding him down. He craned his neck around to see Egil was studying his handiwork thoughtfully.

"Just a moment, Shulk, I wish to leave a... message for His Highness. I remember when Lady Meyneth taught this to me."

"Alright," Shulk consented half-warily. Egil had that manic gleam in his eyes once more, but if it helped the people of Bionis and Mechonis become closer, who was he to complain?

Egil worked quickly, and then released his grip, stepping away to make room.

Shulk grabbed and threw on his shirt and vest. He then gathered his notebooks.

"Remember, rest," Egil reminded him as they squeezed through the mountains of books.

"Yeah," Shulk agreed, walking out the door.

Egil escorted him back to his ship. When it was clear for takeoff, and Shulk was leaning over the side of the safety rail, an afterthought struck him, and he started chuckling. The Havres rose into the twilight sky when Shulk yelled over the side, "Have fun cleaning up!"

It was amusing and a tad alarming to see Egil's face morph from softly happy to murderous rage. Those red eyes burned into his, calling for blood.

Shulk laughed and waved, mentally noting not to appear anywhere in Egil's vicinity for the next few weeks.

"INSOLENT WORM!"

Scratch that; make it the next few months.

* * *

Nighttime blanketed Alcamoth. The stars and the thin slice of the moon were the only natural light sources. High up in the room where he and his friends had once been held prisoner, Shulk worked by the light of an ether lamp.

He had just finished copying the notes on his stomach into a fresh notebook, and was angling a handheld mirror to see his back when the doors slid open, and in walked His Highness with Alvis a half pace behind, and a pair of night guards. Despite the fact that he was only shirtless, Shulk felt naked, and the ink on his skin felt like heavy scarring.

Heat rose to his cheeks, magnified by the yellow light emitting from the lamp. Shoulders tensing, he reached for his shirt reflexively, the handheld mirror in his hand clattering onto the table.

Kallian raised a grey brow, "May I inquire as to why you are covered in-,"

"I ran out of paper," Shulk didn't quite snap, but his tone came dangerously close. He crossed his arms out of subconscious habit.

Alvis, sensing his discomfort, deftly turned and quietly ordered the guards to remain outside. Once they were alone, Kallian moved forward. He too had sensed the skittishness in the normally calm blonde and approached carefully, "I apologize. I meant no offense," he offered, teal eyes noticing the death grip Shulk had on his shirt.

The Hom studied his own white-knuckled fingers as well before tossing the shirt back onto the table with a sigh. He waved away the apology "No, I'm just being stupid is all. Ignore me."

The blonde gathered a pile of papers together, and pushed them to the side, "It isn't complete yet, but here's what I've gathered so far." He talked to the table, acutely aware of eyes traveling over his body like a pair of hot pokers. He gestured to his back, "I just have to get these down, and I'll be done."

"Very well," the regent nodded though Shulk never looked up, "I trust you'll get the rest down by tomorrow."

"Yes, your Highness," the blonde acknowledged.

"I will see to it that it is completed, your Highness," Alvis interrupted.

"See to it," Kallian nodded once more for lack of anything better to say, "Pleasant dreams, Shulk." Dipping his head to Alvis, which was returned with a short bow, his footsteps faded away as the door hissed close behind him.

Shulk let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, and reached for the mirror.

Angling it once more, he saw Alvis's reflection staring curiously at him. No, not at him, but his back. Before Shulk could ask why, the other Hom walked over and squatted down to trace his fingers along the blonde's lower back. Goosebumps erupted on his arms.

"Shulk, what is this?" the Seer asked. The amusement in the normally aloof tone made Shulk crane his neck to look over his shoulder. Alvis was gazing at the lower left portion of his back.

The place where Egil had left a message for the regent. Shulk had completely forgotten about it in the wake of making sure a bloodthirsty Egil didn't follow the Havres in his faced mechon.

"Uh," was his eloquent reply.

Silver eyes glanced up, raising an equally silvery brow.

"I-it was something Egil did. He said it was a message for Kallian. Something that…that Meyneth taught him…?"

Shulk trailed off as Alvis did the unexpected.

He laughed. Not a low chuckle that was typical of him, but a short belly laugh. Hand over mouth to stifle it, Alvis dwindled into snickers.

Shulk was dumbfounded. And it showed in the way that he stared at the other with wide eyes and an unhinged jaw.

Suddenly, he wanted to know _what exactly_ Egil had inked onto his skin.

Twisting his head further, Shulk only succeeded in giving his neck a crick. He tried using the mirror, but every angle was awkward and off.

Finally, Alvis placed a hand over his to get him to stop. The silver-haired man had mostly stopped though a stray chuckle escaped every now and then.

"Do not concern yourself with it, Shulk," he said warmly, smiling up at the blonde.

Shulk blinked. And once again felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he held the silver eyes with his blue. He broke the stare first, clearing his throat. "What is it?"

"A certain…courtesy from my homeland." At the blonde's confused look, Alvis stood fluidly and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Like I said," the hand squeezed before letting go, "Do not concern yourself overly much. But do not copy it into the report like Egil no doubt had intended."

Ignoring the other's questions and protests, Alvis seated himself beside Shulk, and took the mirror from his hand, "I will hold it as you write," his tone brooked no argument.

Shulk sighed, and gave up for the moment, hunching over his notebook to write, and occasionally glancing into the mirror that Alvis so helpfully angled.

It also gave Alvis an unobstructed full viewing of Egil's "message".

There were three chibi figures, one of which was Shulk, another which was Egil himself, and the third, His Highness.

Shulk, the shortest and sleepiest looking, was hiding behind Egil whom was facing off with Kallian. His Highness had a distinct evil aura drawn about him; he had horns coming out of his head along with the wings; a pointy tail and fangs while holding a three-pronged spear.

Egil's chibi had his arm raised between him and the evil Kallian, holding up what was an impressively detailed middle finger.


	2. Chapter 2

I like writing Riki. I like writing how he speaks. He's adorable.

I've also noticed something funny. When I wrote this in a Word Document, it had an issue with how Riki's name is spelled, but Juju's name was fine. Whereas on Doc Manager, it was the exact opposite. Ha.

Thank you Glassdrop for reviewing and following. It means a lot to me. :)

* * *

528\. Flying (Riki and Juju)

"What friend doing?"

Juju looked up from his work, and blinked at the yellow Nopon, "Oh hey Riki, I didn't see you."

Riki puffed out his chest proudly, "Heropon good at sneaky sneaky!" The Nopon waddled closer, pointing an ear flap, "Riki want to know what friend is doing."

"Oh this?" Juju held up his project for better lighting, "Shulk is teaching me how to make an engine."

It was a crude wooden airship with a bunch of metal wires sticking out.

Riki looked puzzled, "Looks like what Bird People use to fly."

"Hehe, yeah," the thirteen year old rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "I already finished the engine, and installed it; I just need to make something that's aerodynamic." He pointed to the lower back part of the airship, "This is where I put the engine. The ether inside is supposed to be conducted through these wires to the propellers. The wings help the airship maneuver wind current."

Riki's head was swimming, "Ohhhhh, Heropon very confused," he moaned, sinking to the ground with a paw on his head. Then something occurred to him. "How anyone fit? Ship so small."

"That's the thing," Juju blushed, "This is only practice. I don't even know if the engine will work properly. But I was thinking maybe if it did work, this type of thing could be turned into a toy for kids. Here, look at this."

He showed Riki a small black rectangular metal box with three buttons. "I took part of the ether that was in the engine, and put it in here. Since both are of the same ether crystal, I was thinking that they would respond to each other. And they do, look!"

Pressing the left button, the crude, unfinished airship shifted to the left. Riki stared with a amazement before jumping up and down excitedly, "Riki want to help! Riki want to help!"

Juju laughed, "You can pick the color I paint it. I want to fly it over to Shulk's house if I can."

* * *

And that is how Shulk, sleepily sipping his morning coffee, received it. He watched idly as the people of the colony went about their daily business. Vendors shouted at passing customers, little kids tossed around a ball, people screamed in terror, birds chirp- wait, what?

He jumped to his feet, spilling a little of his coffee as he followed everyone's pointing fingers to the sky and what was a contraption of some sort, painted a horrendous neon pink and yellow. Heading –at breakneck speed- towards his _house_.

He watched in disbelief, jaw dropped, until someone from the crowd that sounded suspiciously like a hysterical Juju yelled, "Get down!"

His body reacted instinctively to the command, knees collapsing to the ground, and consequentially splashing the rest of his coffee onto his shirt. The thing brushed the air where his head had just been, and his heart skipped a beat. There was a loud crash, and shards of glass rained down on him in a torrent.

The crowd was eerily silent as Fiora elbowed her way to the front with a cry of "Shulk!"

Slowly getting to his feet and brushing his pants off carefully, he turned to stare unblinking at his now broken window. Through it, the contraption had crashed into the toaster, and had a merry fire going.

Fiora tugged at his arm insistently, and he turned to look at her blankly, "Wha?" he shook his head, "What just happened?"

* * *

Around a building from down the street, Juju and Riki collapsed in relief.

"Ohhh, Riki not fond of toy no more," the Nopon said weakly.

"You said it." His heart felt like it was running across Gaur Plain. Limbs numb with pure unadulterated relief, Juju turned his head to glance at his companion. Riki was in a similar state, fur bunched out and slightly clumpy from panicked sweat. Seeing the frown, Juju reached out and gently squeezed Riki's paw.

"Hey, those colors you picked were awesome though." A complete lie, but it seemed to cheer Riki up a little.

The yellow Nopon perked up, "Heropon good at colors!" his face fell a little, "Hope Sharla friend see Shulk friend better."

Speaking of Sharla…

Juju banged the back of his head against the wall, "Sharla's going to kill me! And it's all my fault too. I never should've tried without Shulk's supervision. I'm so _stupid_ …" He threw the remote control, frustration making his eyes water.

Riki tiredly rolled into his lap, and tapped his face with an ear flap, "Littlepons make mistakes all the time. Part of the growing. Juju littlepon make mistake, but Juju littlepon want to do better. Sisterpon will understand. See?"

Juju nodded slowly, resigned, "I guess I better go face the consequences." He reached for the remote control, picked up Riki, and they peeked around the corner again. Sharla and Reyn were both there now, looking serious. Serious and _angry_. The thirteen year old gulped, and ducked back out of sight.

He looked at Riki. Riki looked back at him, brown eyes strangely knowing and non-judging. That gave him the courage to make his choice. "Well," Juju began, walking away from the scene of the crime with Riki in his arms and the remote in his pocket, "We could bury the evidence, and then come back. You know, as concerned third parties."

Riki nodded, and jumped down. His paw grabbed Juju's wrist, and the Nopon practically dragged him away, "Riki know good place."


	3. Chapter 3

Hello lovelies.

I am actually quite pleased with this one. I liked writing Otharon's perspective; I'm so glad the generator chose him and Sharla. Then again, the generator seems to pick the best people for each prompt. I'm baffled by it, but I'm loving it so far.

Note: the Reshaping refers to Shulk creating a new world.

Glassdrop: *Gives Shulk's window a funeral* There, there little guy. Rest in peace ;) Thanks again for reviewing!

SuperCaleb: I tend to write these prompts by whichever one I'm inspired to do at the time. Don't worry, I have prompts for Melia and Fiora too; I'm just waiting for the all powerful Muse to whack me into gear. Thank you for reviewing!

* * *

98\. Rules (Sharla and Otharon)

Otharon respected rules.

As a military man, rules and regulations kept the unruly ruffians under his command in check. They kept the peace in Colony 6. They kept his people _safe_. A single toe out of line, and Otharon didn't hesitate to bring wrath down upon the offender(s).

Sometimes rules had to change.

As a general over Colony 6's Defense Force, battles were fickle, unpredictable things. Make no mistake, when he barked out orders, he expected people to follow them. If he said "Jump", his men asked how high; if he said "Run", his men asked how far. The general's word was law on the battlefield.

But trust was also important. Trust was key. There was no point in commanding soldiers –who underneath were men and women with emotions and families- if they didn't trust the man in charge of their survival. Countless battles with the Mechon had pounded that lesson into his skull.

The previous general had understood that. Back when Otharon was still a green-eared rookie, the general had paced down the assembled line on the first day, eyes sweeping over the multiple faces and memorizing them. He paused, hands behind his back, and made eye contact with every single recruit there. His words echoed in Otharon's being to this very day.

" _Everyone, look to your left and your right. You see those faces? Those are your brothers and sisters. This is your family. Family sticks together. Out there, my command is law. I am tasked with keeping Colony 6 –my_ family- _safe. So here are my first orders. If a brother or sister falls down, and can't get back up,_ you _pick them up. Help them, and they will help you."_

And to every new batch of recruits, Otharon has repeated these words, stomping down the law, and in return, earning trust.

Some rules were bendable. Others were meant to be broken.

As a family friend, he volunteered at times to watch over Juju while Sharla had a night out either with friends or Gadolt though the latter rarely had free time.

" _No more than two scoops of ice-cream, and be in bed by nine,"_ Sharla glared pointedly at her little brother whom huffed and crossed his arms, turning away.

" _Two scoops. Bed by nine,"_ Otharon repeated dutifully.

The minute Sharla turned away, he sent Juju a sly wink, and the kid beamed.

Otharon suspected Sharla knew, but she never said anything. That was a quality he liked about her. Sharla was part of the Defense Force as a medic so she knew that rules had to be followed, but she also knew rules could change rapidly on the field where communication and trust meant the difference between life and death.

She loved her brother with all the ferocity of a mother bear; she realized there might come a time where she couldn't come back home to stroke his hair and chase him around. She understood that the little rules such as dessert limitations or curfew enforcement were merely illusions that soldiers clung to in order to have some semblance of control in their lives. To feel _normal._

Sharla understood rules, therefore Otharon respected her.

But there was one rule in all of existence that couldn't be broken. In all of the years he'd known Sharla, there had never been any exceptions.

 _Never, never,_ never _…for the good of Bionis, take the last pickle in the fridge._

He vividly recalled one evening of watching Juju; he'd just put the nine-year old boy to bed at a rebellious nine-thirty, and he'd relaxed on the couch, reading. The front door unlocked; Sharla and Gadolt spilled into the foyer, talking and laughing quietly.

Otharon put the book down as Sharla came into the living room to hear his report. All was well on his end, and Sharla informed him they had come home early due to bad service at the restaurant.

Gadolt came out of the kitchen, munching on a pickle. Sharla asked him to get her one, but Gadolt told her it was the last one. Sharla had stilled, eyes glinting strangely.

Sweetly – _dangerously-,_ she asked to speak to Gadolt in the kitchen.

Gadolt, the utter, _utter_ fool, shrugged and swaggered into the kitchen after Sharla.

A minute of low murmuring before a shrill scream split the air followed by glass shattering. Otharon jumped to his feet, thinking _Sharla_ had screamed; the sound had been so high-pitched. He heard the front door open and slam shut followed by a sharp _thunk_ in wood.

Sharla walked calmly out of the kitchen, face betraying nothing of what just occurred. She thanked Otharon for watching Juju, and escorted him to the door. Seeing the cleaver embedded an inch into the wood, Otharon tentatively asked what happened to Gadolt.

Sharla smiled warmly.

" _Oh, he went out on an emergency grocery run."_

From then on, he kept a small jar of pickles on him to prevent further bloodshed.

* * *

 _*Four years later*_

So much could happen in a year, Otharon mused, picking at his food. Revenge threw all rules out the window, and wrote its own book. It was lucky for him that Shulk and Reyn had snapped him out of his obsession, and showed him the light of a future Otharon had lost all hope for.

After the Reshaping, Gadolt had been given a proper funeral. The body was gone, but that was alright. His spirit could still be set to rest.

Otharon propped his chin in his palm, and let the swell of voices wash over him like a reassuring mother. Juju laughed as Reyn tried in various ways to sneak food off Sharla's plate with Sharla blocking his attempts, wielding her fork quite skillfully.

"Oh, c'mon Sharla, give me a break. I'm hungry!"

"You can get your own seconds from the kitchen!"

Reyn sighed and theatrically slumped over, "But that requires _energy_ ," he moaned, "And food gives me energy."

"Oh, poor baby," Sharla sympathized sardonically, stabbing violently down at straying fingers.

Reyn squeaked, and pulled his fingers back just in time. Sharla grinned smugly as Juju giggled.

"Reyn, you're _terrible_ at this," the thirteen-year old said between fits.

"Shut it, you," Reyn said with no heat, "I ain't done yet!" And by some miracle or dexterity Otharon didn't think Reyn possessed, he snatched one of Sharla's pickles up without getting amputated in the process.

"Reyn!" Sharla snapped.

"Don't you care about me enough not to let me starve?" Reyn whined.

Sharla stilled, looking down at her plate, jaw clenching. Juju fell silent, staring bug-eyed. Otharon observed quietly, one hand palming the extra jar of pickles he always carried in his pant pocket. Reyn hadn't stolen the last pickle, but one couldn't be too careful.

Reyn noticed the silence with confusion. "Sharla?" he tried. She didn't respond, nor look up. "I-I was just horsing around. I didn't mean it," he started to babble, "I can get seconds myself, it's no big deal." He stood up, and held the pickle out for Sharla to take.

She stood up quickly, startling everyone. Otharon gripped his jar tightly. If she went for the butter knife on her right, he would produce the extra pickles.

The pickle in Reyn's hand wavered as he stared uncertainly.

Then, amazingly, Sharla reached out with both hands, and curled Reyn's fingers over the vegetable, pushing it back towards the redhead. She looked up, and Otharon was caught off guard with how soft her eyes were, the warm curl of her lips. There was no hidden malevolence lurking beneath the surface, no wrathful demon at the ready.

"Never doubt that I care for you, Reyn," Sharla murmured though it sounded loud in the dead silence. "In fact," she plucked up the last pickle and held it out with a beam, "This is how much I care about you."

Reyn took the offering absently as he stared at Sharla in bewilderment, yet Otharon could tell he was caught up by how Sharla seemed to glow.

Juju suddenly looked very uncomfortable as if he'd caught the two of them kissing. Otharon had to agree with the sentiment; this was clearly a moment meant only for them.

But Otharon was glad to witness it.

He hid a smile with his hand.

Every rule had an exception, and it looked like Sharla found hers.


	4. Chapter 4

Well this one was an unexpected doozy to write. It took me a lot longer than expected. I had an idea of where I wanted this to go, and then it evolved into the monstrosity you see now. Lol.

It's a roller coaster that goes from happy to sad to happy again. Which reminds me, I don't know if any of you will notice or care, but I'm changing the second genre of this work from friendship to angst. Then, we can all have humorous _and_ angsty one-shots. *Pumps fist in the air* Plus, friendship is kinda general and can fit with either genre in my opinion.

I was actually contemplating whether to save this for Halloween because of... well, reasons I'm sure you'll figure out soon. But I didn't want to wait that long so here you go!

Glassdrop: Thank you for your continued support. It means a lot:) I'm glad I made you laugh. *tips hat* That's what I'm here for. ;) And you could say...*waggles eyebrows*...Reyn was in quite a pickle too. You may shoot me for that.

Guest: I'm so happy that I made you laugh! Psh, who cares what people say? Better out than in. ;) Thank you for the review! Concerning your question, I'm sure you'll see when you start reading this that I have A LOT more prompts than five hundred. I do it so I can torture the characters more. :) I'm not sure how many I'll do in the long run, but hey! Options are always fun. Oh and one more thing *side whispers* Sharla prefers dill pickles. Just saying.

Enjoy!

* * *

818\. Plastic (Alvis, Reyn, and Melia)

"I think it wants to eat my soul."

"Don't be ridiculous, Reyn," Melia chided, carefully brushing the doll's blonde hair.

A lifeless green eye stared directly at him, pinning him to the spot. The other eye was gone along with part of the face, a hole punched through fair plastic skin. Painted lips grinned widely and menacingly, showing off gleaming white teeth. Reyn swallowed, and resisted the urge to shudder.

"It's not blinking."

"'Its' name is Fiona."

"It's smiling at me."

"She's happy to see you."

"It's not _breathing_."

"Reyn," Melia sighed in exasperation, "Are you purposefully being obtuse?"

Reyn pursed his lips, and looked away. Melia huffed once more before turning her attention back to Fiona. She would need a change of clothes, Melia thought, fingering the doll's attire. Nothing too formal as she was joining her friends and family in storage; ball gowns were such fickle things to wash.

She rooted around in the small wooden chest gifted to her by Kallian for her twentieth birthday, clumsily carved, but no less treasured. She settled for a simple white sundress with black lace trim, and quickly undressed Fiona.

"Fiora has a dress like that back home," Reyn said suddenly, peering over her shoulder.

Melia started, and flushed. "Reyn!" she snapped, hands covering Fiona to protect her virtue, "Have you no decency?!"

"Wha-?" the redhead blinked at her in confusion. His gaze flickered between Melia's scandalized features to the doll in her lap. Then, it dawned what Melia's hands were covering up, and a light bulb went off in his head. He recoiled, hands flapping wildly in denial. His jaw opened and closed, yet no sound came out besides a strangled scoff.

Despite herself, Melia's lips quirked up at the horrified, betrayed look he sent her. It was akin to the one he gave Sharla when she told him the merchants in Colony 6 were discontinuing spicy cabbages and meaty potatoes.

It made her feel evil.

She loved it.

Reyn huffed and crossed his arms. "Well it _does,"_ he said defensively, eyes firmly on the ground. "She only wears it once a year though."

Melia snorted. _Snorted!_ Her friends were rubbing off on her.

"Do you make it a habit of knowing other people's wardrobes, Reyn?" she teased, "Should I warn Fiora?"

"No!" The sheer panic in his voice made Melia pause and study her large friend. The redhead squirmed under her close scrutiny.

Realization suddenly hit, and it was her turn to be horrified, "Reyn, please tell me you didn't," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose as her wings twitched agitatedly.

"It was a long time ago! I just wanted to see where she disappeared to for the day, and she left her curtains open, and, and, and… it was just a quick peek, and I swear I didn't see anything! She had her back to the window."

Listening to the babble only succeeded in embarrassing Melia further. "You deviant!" she screeched, throwing the brush.

It smacked Reyn square in the forehead, causing him to go briefly cross-eyed. It didn't stop him from clasping his hands in front of him like he was praying. Or begging for his life. "Please don't tell Shulk! Or Dunban! _Especially_ not Dunban. He'll skin me with a smile on his face! And skip around a bonfire as he merrily burns my corpse. Dunban doesn't _skip!_ It would be like living in a world where Dickson never smokes! Please Melia," he pleaded, "It was an accident, and I never did it again. I swear it!"

Melia regretted ever bringing it up. Why, oh _why_ , did she always need to solve the littlest of mysteries? She blamed her mother, or more specifically, First Consort Yumea who always needed everything to be in their correct places. During the times Yumea had to deal with her "second" child, Melia had to be absolutely perfect, or receive reprimanding smacks to the wrists.

The perfect little doll to be used and discarded at will.

Old habits die hard.

She sighed, "I won't tell."

"Oh thank you, thank you, _thank you_!" Were those tears in Reyn's eyes?

Melia shifted uncomfortably.

An awkward silence descended on them. Neither looked at the other, or if they did, their eyes never quite met.

Then, "So how did it lose its face?"

Melia blinked, "Excuse me?"

Reyn gestured to Fiona with a quick flick of his wrist. It was clear he wanted to change the topic, and Melia latched onto the offering gratefully. She held up Fiona, who was now fully dressed, for her friend's inspection.

Reyn grimaced, looking at the doll warily. Melia frowned.

"She won't harm you."

"It's not that," he said, rolling his right shoulder, "Dolls are just creepy. They'll smile at you one day, and then slit your throat later in revenge if you throw them away."

"That is awfully morbid, and I will have you know that I've never abandoned any of my friends," she shot back, eyes narrowing. She clutched Fiona to her protectively. It was true; the thought of throwing away any of the dolls she collected over the years made her physically ill. Even if they broke or fell apart, Melia always took care of them. She brushed hair, sewed clothes, and bestowed names and personalities. In return, they gave her company through her lonely childhood, and kept her nightly whispers secret.

Reyn gave her an odd look, and she released the breath she didn't know she was holding.

"You're one of the loyalist people I know," he declared seriously, brows furrowing.

Melia cracked a smile, "The sentiment is appreciated and returned likewise." She played with Fiona's hair absently as she spoke, "When I was younger, Father let me adopt a Dobercorgi. I named him Mummers, and he was a fierce thing. Quiet, but fierce. He never liked Duncan."

"Duncan?"

"Fiona's older brother. I put him in storage because Mummers ripped his right arm off."

A cold feeling washed through Reyn's insides. Melia didn't notice.

"I was enacting a scenario when Mummers came running in. He knocked over Sheldon and Reina, Fiona's friends. I tried shooing him, but he snatched up Fiona and ran away. By the time I found her, her face was ruined and Mummers had a stomachache."

"Uhhh…"

"Reyn? Are you alright? You've gone pale."

"I'm… fine. Where did you get the dolls?"

"Alvis gifted them to me. He helped me choose names as well."

"…the Seer?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Never mind." Then, he changed his mind, "Can I see the others? Fiona's friends?"

Melia's eyes lit up. She led him to a room down a few doors. Opening the door, Reyn regretted his request immediately as his eye twitched. Along the walls, dolls and stuffed animals in various states of disrepair lined shelves.

Their eyes seemed to simultaneously zoom in on him. Reyn wanted to run, but Melia pushed him in with surprising strength. She placed Fiona on the ground as she rummaged through a box. "Where did I… Aha!" she pulled out three dolls, "Meet Duncan, Sheldon, and Reina," she said pointing to each one.

The resemblances were disturbing. The dissimilarities were worse.

Duncan's long dark hair fell in wisps around his face. His arm was ripped out.

Sheldon's lips were pulled up in a familiar soft smile. Part of his cheek was missing, stretching the smile into a wide wicked grin.

Reina had his build. But… but… he was a _she._ With _boobs_!

Reyn felt extremely insulted.

Murderous thoughts began to hatch, nurtured by sweet vengeance.

He turned on his heel, preparing to comb the palace for a certain seer, and give him a piece of his mind. Ignoring Melia's inquiries, he threw open the door-

-And later denied shrieking like a little girl.

A large _thing_ blocked the door, and loomed intimidatingly. Reyn looked up slowly. Beady black eyes bored into his soul like twin voids. Its crooked thin arm stumps stretched out towards him. It grunted as it suddenly burst forward.

Reyn screamed and leapt backwards, toppling into Melia. They both went down in a heap of tangled limbs. Light burst through the door, illuminating the room.

Alvis peered around what was now clearly a giant stuffed Nopon, quirking an eyebrow.

"Is everything alright?" the Seer asked in his soft monotone.

Melia sat up, rubbing the back of her head. "Reyn," she began to snarl, then caught sight of the Nopon. With a delighted chirp, she launched herself forward and hugged the monstrosity.

"Where did you find him?" she asked breathlessly, "I thought I lost him forever."

Reyn slowly sat up, "How do you lose something that size?" He quailed under Melia's glare.

"Out," she demanded.

"But-,"

" _Out!_ "

He scrambled, forgetting his previous intentions as he slipped past Alvis. Relief pumped through his veins as he put more distance between him and that room.

If his friends ever asked why Reyn was hesitant to visit Alcamoth these days, he'd make up some silly story, and say that he didn't want a certain scorned elemental summoner blasting him to high heaven.

His pride wouldn't allow him to admit that the storage room and its contents haunted his dreams. He still felt eyes watching him at times, heard conspiratorial whispers of childish voices not there. Reyn considered himself to be a see-it-to-believe-it guy. He saw the dolls, knew they weren't alive, but his mind wouldn't stop the torment. So he took his fear, and stored it in the deep recesses of his mind to forget.

Though he never forgot the indignation that came with Reina.


	5. Chapter 5

Hallelujah! It's finally DONE! Holy shit, I am so relieved. This took me a WEEK to write! I thought the last chapter was a monstrosity. I was wrong. The last chapter was the kiddy pool. Here's the deep end. But I had to do this one because... well, because Glassdrop sort of unintentionally inspired me. This is a sequel to the first chapter, Ink.

Glassdrop: I'm sorry you're feeling under the weather. You're probably all better right now, but I'm sending good vibes your way anyway :) Plus, you knocked down the dominoes that led to this monstrosity. So thank you for the unintentional inspiration. As for your question about Melia not realizing the dolls were her friends, I'm going to say that Melia has had her dolls for so long that she never notices the obvious flaws about them. It's like a kid re watching a Disney movie, and discovering the adult humor only in this case, Melia never re watched the movie. If that makes sense. Thank you for the Favorite and for the review!

Someone: I'm so glad you're enjoying yourself! As for your question, I got these prompts from numerous places. Most of them were from one word prompt tables found on Google. Others were from generators. I am slowly discovering that I'm a writing masochist. *sigh* You learn something new everyday. Thanks for the review!

SuperCaleb: Reyn is definitely a special snowflake. But that's okay! He's still lovable. And it never really struck me until I started writing it, but I can totally see Melia as one of those people with a doll collection. Thanks for reviewing!

Xervail: I'm glad you found it interesting. I was going for a mixture of psychological, horror, and humor. Thanks for reviewing!

RoseyDaMcNoob, catsrae, FlameOf6295, and LightLitAFlame: Thank all of you for the Favorites and/or Follows.

I wish everyone a good day.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

275\. Contagious (Egil and Shulk)

Shulk sneezed.

That'd been the third time in the course of five minutes. He discretely rubbed his nose, controlling his breathing as a familiar, unwanted tingle tickled the back of his throat. He ignored Egil who glanced at him from the corner of his eye, frowning. The Machina was in a black mood today, and Shulk didn't want to irritate him further.

He rested his forehead in his hand, and forced his eyes to focus on the book in front of him. The letters kept blurring into black squiggles even when he shut his eyes and reopened them, blinking to refocus. He was lucky Egil had let him –begrudgingly- back into Meyneth's library after the mess he'd made previously.

Getting snot everywhere was definitely a one-way ticket of being booted from the room.

It was nothing he couldn't handle. A cold was just something he powered through.

He'd done it before.

He was _fine._

But the scratching in his throat begged to differ, tickling and insistent. Like a child wanting to show their parent what strange, wondrous thing they'd found outside, his chest wanted to show off whatever was clogging his esophagus.

It was hard saying no.

He sneezed again.

His nasal cavity was another story all together. It was like the family dog, enthusiastic and slobbering everywhere.

Shulk frowned.

Why was he giving his bodily functions household roles?

What was he doing again?

"You've been staring at that page for over five minutes. Either have some miraculous breakthrough or stop slacking."

Shulk looked up. Egil was jotting down notes as he spoke with a hint of disdain.

"The books are dusty," Shulk muttered, scrubbing his nose.

Egil straightened like a puppet jerked on its strings. "Lady Meyneth's library is kept pristine; I make sure of that myself. If anything, _you_ are the problem."

"Oh," Shulk answered disinterestedly. He was busy deepening his breaths as his throat demanded release. Heat rose to his face as he concentrated. Once the feeling passed, he swallowed, and looked down at the book frowning.

What was he doing? This wasn't the right one.

He started pushing it away when his throat –petulant child- decided it had enough of Shulk's oppression, and ripped a series of coughs from him. At the same time, he sneezed. The sheer unforeseen force of both sent his head careening down. The open book provided some cushioning, but it was a minimum comfort.

Shulk sat up groaning, rubbing his forehead with a palm.

There was a chill in the air, and Shulk glanced at Egil out of pure reflex. The Machina stared open-mouthed in a mixture of horror, disgust, and rapidly building fury. But he wasn't looking at Shulk, he was looking down…?

 _Oh._ Right in the spine of the book, he'd left a goopy mess. _Oops._

"Don't do that!" Egil snapped as Shulk reached out to clean the mess with his sleeve. The book was snatched away, and held at its edges. Red eyes narrowed as they inspected the damage, grey nose wrinkling.

Shulk watched for a moment before sighing, and resting his head on the blessedly cool table, arms splayed about like a haphazard halo. He yawned, closing his eyes if only for a second.

"Shulk," there was wariness in Egil's voice now, "For the sake of relations between Bionis and Mechonis, answer me honestly. Are you alright?"

"M'fine," he mumbled.

"I said honestly."

"Was honest."

"Shulk…" The warning tone was clear.

Lifting his head from the table, he met red eyes head on, "I'm fine, Egil, just a little tired."

"Go rest then. You're a nuisance otherwise." Egil added, "If you don't, I will cheerfully toss you out the nearest window." His fingers flexed for emphasis.

Shulk's protest was successfully cut off.

He was secretly grateful.

* * *

It was late in the evening. It hadn't been a particularly busy one, so Linada sent Voltak home with the promise of retiring soon herself.

She was cleaning up her workspace when the door hissed open.

"Linada?"

Linada put down her tools, and looked over. Shulk stood just inside the doorway, one white-knuckled hand gripping the frame, face strangely flushed. Alarms went off in her mind. She turned around fully, gaze sweeping over his body with practiced medical ease.

"Linada?"

She realized she hadn't responded, and cleared her throat, "Yes Shulk?"

The Homs blinked rapidly, squinting as though the light hurt him. He licked his lips, breathing deliberately deep, "I know Homs aren't your area, but would you by chance have anything for a migraine?" his voice was hoarse.

He looked so hopeful…

"Unfortunately no," she admitted, cursing herself mentally as Shulk's face fell. She studied him closely, "How bad is it?"

Shulk smiled. It was strained at best, "Not that bad. I'll live." He was lying. "Sorry for bothering you this late." He turned for the door, swaying.

"Hold it right there, Shulk!" Linada's voice was sharp, "Do you think I'm blind?" She gestured to her examining table. "Sit."

It was an order, not a request. Defeated, Shulk crossed the room –Linada's eyes followed his clumsy gait- and hefted himself up. She dimmed the lights for his benefit, and quickly got to work.

The first thing she noticed was the shivering. "The table is cold," was the explanation she got. Frowning, she checked his forehead. It was warm, warmer than it had any right to be.

"You have a fever," she said.

He shied from her touch, "S'just a cold."

" _I_ will decide that," she shot back.

His pulse and heartbeat were faster than usual. Linada maneuvered the stethoscope around his chest and back, instructing him to breathe deeply for her. Some inhalations were interrupted by fits of wet coughing. When they ceased, Shulk had to pause to gasp in denied oxygen.

And that's when Linada first heard it.

A faint whistling sound.

Her eyes narrowed; it was little more than a wisp in the wind, but if she strained, it was definitely there.

She sat back, puzzled. Although she did have knowledge of Homs physiology, _and_ had helped Fiora regenerate her body, it wasn't much when it came to the subtle intricacies of Homs illness. Even so, she was fairly confident that whistling noise wasn't normal for a cold.

But that wasn't the only problem.

"I wish you came to me sooner," Linada chided, sighing. A clearly sick Homs in a village of easily susceptible Machina? That was a nightmare waiting to unfold. She could kiss her nice vacation with Voltak goodbye.

"I've powered through colds before. It's not a big deal," Shulk shrugged a shoulder.

"It's not that. Machina have weaker immune systems. We may be able to brush off physical blows with ease, but the trade-off is we get sick easier."

Shulk exhaled a soft, " _Oh."_ There was so much guilt in that syllable. Then, "Is there any way to contain an outbreak?"

Linada sighed, "It depends. Who have you been in contact with?"

Shulk frowned, "No one in particular. The only person I was with for a long period of time was…" he trailed off, letting out a groan that had nothing to do his cold. He hung his head, "Egil won't be happy."

Despite it being unprofessional, Linada snorted. "He's rarely happy these days. Any unusual behavior on his part?"

"No, yes, maybe-," the blonde sighed, "He seems more irritable than usual, but that's it."

"Hmmm," Linada pondered that tidbit. A grumpy Egil wasn't uncommon, but what if he was hiding his symptoms? The only person to see him for days was Shulk, and sick people weren't the most observant. The thought of an outbreak ultimately decided her course of action. "I have a plan. I'll need a little help, but I have a plan."

"Just tell me what to do," Shulk said immediately.

She had to smile. "Thank you for offering, but I already have a helper in mind. She'll coax Egil out of his hole. You follow me."

* * *

"You cannot be serious," Egil said, resisting the urge to break something.

"It's for the good of our people, brother," Vanea soothed from the other side of the window.

"It'll only be for a short while," Linada pitched in while typing.

"Define short," Egil said darkly, crossing his arms.

The females looked at each other, exchanging a silent conversation. His eye twitched; a snarl building in his throat.

"A week tops," Linada ventured, "More or less."

"A _week_?! Have you lost your minds! Do you know how much that will set us back?" Egil saw red.

"Do you know how much an outbreak will set everything back?!" Linada planted her hands on her hips and glared.

He stared in disbelief. " _I'm not sick_!" he roared.

"Brother, please-,"

"How could you do this to me?" he rounded on Vanea, hands clenched tightly. Vanea cringed, and regret flickered in his chest.

A hand was on his arm. "Enough Egil, this isn't helping." He shook off the contact.

"And _you!"_ he snapped at the blonde, "I thought I made it clear to _stop_ being a nuisance. What do you do? You bring sickness into the village, and risk _everyone!"_

"I didn't think it was bad!" Shulk snapped back defensively.

"Exactly! You _don't_ _think_ -,"

"Stop!" Linada thundered. She took a deep breath, "Look, we're not playing the blame game. Like it or not, Egil, but you're as much a risk as Shulk is right now as you've had longer exposure to him the last few days."

"Yet I'm not sick," he said pointedly.

Linada ignored him, and addressed Shulk, "Meals will be brought up, and there are toiletries in the bathroom." Shulk nodded in acknowledgement. She turned back to Egil, "If you're so gung-ho about it, we'll bring you your work."

He gave a tight nod, teeth grinding.

Linada finished typing, and the door beeped, "Alright. You guys are now in lockdown. There's a communication line next to the door, so either of you can call if you need something."

Egil rubbed his forehead, "I need more sanity."

"That's the spirit!"

* * *

Quietness pervaded the room when Linada and Vanea took their leave. It was the sort of silence that made people wary, the kind that warned of a wild animal on the prowl. The kind Egil looked like right now. The Machina paced around the room, grumbling to himself. He'd attempted to open the door the moment the two females were gone, but nothing seemed to work, judging from spat curses.

"We should get some rest," Shulk finally ventured tentatively.

Egil stilled. "Rest?" his voice was silky. Shulk tensed reflexively. "I don't need rest. In fact, I don't need to be here _at all_. Remind me again why I am."

"Because spreading germs is bad…?"

He fought the urge to cringe as Egil shot him an icy glare. "I. Am not. Sick," he punctuated sharply. "I'm just stuck with the idiot who refused to heed my advice in the first place. I told you to rest when you got back to Alcamoth! But what didn't you do? Rest!"

"It slipped my mind when you were chasing the Havres."

"Because _you_ insisted on leaving a mess behind!" Egil pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a calming breath. After a moment, he continued softly, "There are many things I can tolerate, Shulk, but hypocrisy is not one."

Shulk swallowed, throat dry and scratchy. He wet his lips before responding. "I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. I'm listening now."

"About time."

And that was the extent of their conversation for the night. It wasn't until they were both in the single bed –another thing griped about- that Shulk replayed the conversation in his head. He suddenly grinned.

"So you _do_ care!"

He dodged the pillow that threatened to smother him, coughing gleefully.

* * *

 _Day 1_

 _11:30 PM_

"Shulk, you're being ridiculous," Egil said with the air of a long-suffering parent. Shulk scooted backwards, taking all the blankets with him. Egil's eye twitched, "Give me a blanket, brat!"

"If you want one, then join me," Shulk lifted his arm, stretching the blankets up in some deformed wing, "And become one with the blanket burrito."

Egil stared. Bright blue eyes stared back with all the seriousness of someone touched in the head.

"It makes sense," the deluded blonde continued as his arm flopped back down, "I'm hot, you're cold. Both are intense, so when you put them together," his eyes widened to full size, "It just makes sense!" he finished in an awed whisper to himself.

Egil sat up. "I'm calling Linada," he announced flatly, "You've clearly lost any little sense you had before."

Linada was no help. Neither was a sleep-rumpled Vanea.

Plans of retribution and slow, painful death were his only companions as he stubbornly sat at his desk chair, turned on the ether lamp, and pulled a big pile of documents his way. He may as well pour his rage into something productive.

* * *

 _Day 2_

 _8:23 AM_

He was pleasantly warm when he woke to the sound water running. Egil rubbed his forehead, sitting up. As he did, the blanket covering his shoulders fell to the floor with a soft _whoosh_. The bed was empty when he glanced over, the sheets and blankets tangled.

Sighing, he plucked the blanket up and flinched involuntarily, realizing just then how wet the fabric was. The Homs had covered him with a blanket coated in his own sweat!

"Shulk!" he roared, utterly disgusted.

There was a yelp and a distinct _thump_ from the bathroom. Egil later took perverse pleasure upon seeing the blossoming bruise on the blonde's forehead.

Hmph. Served him right.

* * *

 _1:13 PM_

His eyes idly traced the scratchy, curt lines as his head bobbed from side to side to an unheard ringing.

"… _ulk…hulk…_ Shulk!"

Shulk startled, the pen in his loose grip clattering onto the desktop as his back went rigid. He stared blankly at the sheets of paper in front of him, black letters stark against the white. A hand nudged his shoulder, and he looked over. Egil's exasperated face swam into focus.

"At least _try_ to finish your sentences like an educated person."

"…what?"

The Machina rubbed his forehead, "And this is what I must be subjected to for a week."

"Huh?"

"Your wit is astounding."

"You don't have eyebrows!" Shulk retorted.

Yep. Total victory there.

* * *

 _10:24 PM_

The bed dipped under his weight as he sat on the edge. Shulk yawned, and reached for the tangle of blankets only for it to wiggle away. Egil's head popped out of the cocoon and glared. "Uh uh," he snapped, "You got all the blankets yesterday. My turn." With a self-satisfied smirk, he turned on his side, head disappearing again.

Shulk blinked. Then he shrugged, and maneuvered so that he could sit with his back against the wall at the head of the bed. Hugging a pillow close, he pondered his lost train of thought, shivering, as he leisurely cracked his knuckles.

The bed twitched.

Dismissing it as his imagination, Shulk let out another jaw popping yawn.

The bed shuddered once again. "Stop that," the bundle of blankets growled.

"What?" he asked, popping both elbows.

"That!"

"You mean this?" Wrists were next.

"Shulk," Egil began with honest curiosity, "Do you have a death wish?"

"Only for a blanket."

There was no response.

Shulk sighed… and proceeded to crack his back in several places.

A blanket smacked into his face.

Shulk snickered-

-and was promptly kicked off the bed.

At least he got to keep the blanket and pillow.

Small mercies.

* * *

 _Day 3_

 _7:45 AM_

The moment Egil left the bed, Shulk leapt into his spot, hunkering down and curling up in the remaining warmth. As if sensing the Machina's stare, the bundle of blankets muttered, "M'cold" as way of explanation.

"We have work."

"Way ahead of you." Pale arms and a head emerged from the covers like a turtle. In one hand, Shulk had his journal with documents stuck inside while the other hand clutched a fistful of pens.

"Very well." Egil let it go, seeing the visible tremble of exposed limbs and the exhausted glaze in blue eyes underlined by faint purple rings.

He didn't want to acknowledge the flare of guilt when the blonde shot him a tiny relieved smile.

* * *

 _9:50 AM_

Admittedly, Shulk didn't get much work done. He reviewed his notes, corrected a few things, and studied the insides of his lids once holding his head up became too burdensome.

He was just waking up from a second "break" when the world went black.

…What?

Blinking a few times helped assure him that he was indeed awake, and helped readjust his vision. Seeing the vague outlines of objects also assured him that he was –indeed- not blind. He sat up. The room was like a void, a shadow ready to snuff him out with a pinch of the fingers.

Was he alone?

Where was Egil?

Red eyes, bright and vengeful, flashed his way; their owner's demonic shape outlined with a lazy golden hue. Shulk screamed, and dove under the covers.

It was indeed very manly.

"What are you yelling at, runt?"

Shulk peeked out. Red eyes just looked their typical grumpy.

He suddenly felt silly.

"What happened?" Shulk asked hoarsely, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. He rubbed his poor abused throat.

"The power went out," Egil said simply, eyes turning away to inspect something.

Shulk pushed the blankets away, and stumbled over. "Is the communication line down?"

"Unfortunately."

The golden glow he'd seen was a dimly glowing ether lamp, independently active from the main power source. It barely illuminated Egil, who was kneeling on the ground, studying part of the wall underneath the communicator. He hummed in thought as he used his nails to pry off what sounded like metal grating. Shulk collapsed beside him, and squinted.

Behind the grating were thin steel tubes. Egil reached in nimble fingers. It was too dark to see what he was doing.

"How can you see?" Shulk demanded, straining his eyes.

"Some Machina have night vision. The type varies." The tinkering halted. Egil glanced over his shoulder, "There's a tube in here that contains a small ether cylinder. I need you to reach in, and grab it while I hold the tube apart." There was a squeak, and metal grinding. "Now."

Shulk reached over Egil's arm, and felt around until his fingers wrapped around a container no bigger than his thumb and thin as a pencil. He pulled it out, and inspected it. "It needs to be replaced," he surmised. The sound of metal colliding back together startled him, and the container was snatched away before it dropped.

"Careful!" the Machina hissed. "The problem is that these power lines need pure ether to run. If I were to use the processed ether in the lamp, it would barely patch a connection through, but it's better than nothing."

"Wait!" Shulk reached down, and undid the clasp of his lanyard, presenting the small container that had been attached. "Will this work?"

Egil took it from his hand, and studied it. He peered back over sharply. "Why do you have raw water crystals?"

"I have an ether deficiency."

Egil looked torn. "I can't take this."

"Yes, you can," Shulk said calmly, "I haven't had trouble since wielding the Monado for the first time. I only really kept it because…" he bit his lip, gaze dropping. _Dickson gave it to me_ would've been his answer, but he didn't want to deal with Egil's reaction to him having been raised by one of Zanza's disciples.

So instead, he settled for, "Someone I was close to made it for me."

"Was?"

Shulk closed his eyes, swallowing vainly against the lump in his throat, "He died." _I killed him._ "Please just take it." _Please don't._ "I don't need it anymore." _It's my only connection to him._

There was a beat of silence. Then, the container was forced back into his hand, and long slim fingers folded his own over it. Egil didn't say a word.

Shulk didn't offer it again.

He watched Egil take the lamp, and fiddle with it. He tried helping, but was sent away because his hands were trembling too much _"You clumsy oaf!"_

Making his way back to the bed, he quietly slipped under the covers. He was crying, Shulk realized with a start, warm tracks gliding down his cheek, over the bridge of his nose, and onto the sheets.

Suddenly, he missed home with a sharp pang of longing. The old Colony 9. He missed running around with Reyn, missed playing House with Fiora, and missed Dunban reading them bedtime stories when they had sleepovers. Most of all, he missed the smoky scent of _him, his_ crotchety, sardonic voice, the way _he_ used to ruffle his hair, _his_ cackling laughter, _his_ gleeful and traumatizing explanation of where babies come from, _his_ attempts at shooing him from lab, _his_ questionable –on many levels- parenting, and it all hit Shulk with the force of what felt like at least fifty bullets ripping through his heart.

If Egil ever heard the hitched, shuddering sobs, he never commented.

* * *

 _6:31 PM_

Prying his eyelids open was like shoving two boulders, heavy and crusty, apart with a toothpick. His head felt like someone had smashed it open with a hammer only to stuff in foamy cotton balls. He was tired, but not tired; his chest felt congested, but his sore throat refused to cough; his nasal cavity was stuffed to the brim, but his muscles ached and trembled when he tried sitting up to clear it; and his head was hot while the rest of his body shivered.

Shulk felt like crap warmed over.

He managed to get his eyelids part way open before giving up completely. The room was still dark, but it wasn't clear if it was from the blackout or if night had come.

The mattress shifted as weight readjusted to a new position, and Shulk wriggled over to bury his face in Egil's thigh. The smooth cool metal alleviated the heat a tad.

"What are you doing?"

The question wasn't angry or even curious; it was the tone of someone used to putting up with Shulk's strange Homs antics.

Shulk opened his mouth to answer, but all that passed through chapped lips was a pathetic whimper. It made him wince mortified. A hand descended on his head, and Shulk prepared himself to be shoved –quite violently- away. Instead, fingers carded through his hair.

If this was a trap, Shulk didn't care. The bait was too good to pass up.

Especially when nails lightly scratched his scalp.

His body relaxed, and he was slowly lulled into a half-stupor. Egil had been reading, he realized, and the hand occasionally left to turn the page, crinkling the paper each time. It was incredibly soothing.

Egil's fingers touched his cheek, and Shulk leaned into cold touch with an appreciative sigh.

"You're hot."

Shulk mumbled, "And you're cold, but we've already been through this conversation. It didn't end well." The hand returned to his hair. "What did Linada say?"

"I managed to patch a connection through, but just barely." Egil's frown was clear in his tone, "I conveyed the situation, and from what I understood over the static, she assured me she'd fix things. There was some sort of crash-,"

Despite his attempt to stay alert, most of the words flew over Shulk's head. There was another thought nagging at him; something that Linada had said…

"Why aren't you sick?" he demanded, cutting off Egil mid-sentence.

"Excuse me?"

"Linada told me that Machina get sick easier," Shulk twisted around to point his finger accusingly, "So why aren't you?" his tone was indignant.

"Glad to see you so concerned for my well-being," Egil deadpanned.

"Answer," Shulk poked him.

"I haven't gotten sick in a very long time. I decided that the experience wasn't fun, and resolved never to get sick again."

Shulk stared. He had no idea whether Egil was joking or not. "You say it like it's so simple."

"I didn't become the leader of Mechonis for nothing."

"Huh. So you were the last man standing."

Egil flicked his forehead. It was rather gentle. For the most part.

"What, then, brought the great leader of Mechonis down?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Egil pursed his lips, looking away. Red eyes refocused on their book, ignoring the blonde. From his demeanor, he seemed almost… _embarrassed._

"Uh uh!" Shulk declared, thrusting his hand up to block Egil's line of reading. "You can't just back out like that. You've sparked my curiosity, and that's dangerous when left unattended."

Egil closed the book on his hand. Shulk refused to flinch though his left eye twitched imperceptibly.

"What was it?" he asked again, "A cold? Allergies? Chickenpox?" The thought of Egil stuck in bed with angry red blisters brought an unbidden smile to his face. "I won't laugh. Promise."

"You're smiling."

"I won't laugh _much_."

Egil glared.

Shulk tried again, "What was-?"

"Alright!" the Machina snapped. "There was a delegation of High Entia in Agniratha. Apparently there was a bout of flu going around."

There was a beat of silence as Shulk let that soak in. Then, "You got sick with _bird flu?"_ He snickered. He chuckled. Another thought occurred to him, "Is that why you won't talk with Kallian directly?" Egil's disgruntled look opened the floodgates, and Shulk had to clutch his stomach; he was cough laughing that hard.

This time he was shoved violently away.

* * *

 _Day 4_

 _4:12 AM_

Wet chunky mucus built in his throat, blocking his airway. Wet coughs echoed in the room. Shulk sat upright, struggling to breath. It felt like a block in his lungs, thick and heavy. He knuckled the center of his chest futilely.

Egil turned on his side, pulling a pillow on top of his head, grumbling incoherently.

Shulk quietly slipped from the bed, and stumbled to the bathroom. Barely having made it to the toilet, he collapsed to his knees, and proceeded to puke his insides out. The upheaved stomach bile scorched his aching throat.

He gripped the sink counter, and hauled himself upright. Fumbling for a cup with one hand, he turned the faucet on with the other. As he filled the cup, some water splashed on his hand, and he shivered.

Why was it so cold?

His body rejected the water with a roiling pitch, and erupted into yet another bout of coughing, wheezing for air between fits. When it stopped, his arms shook. Shulk opened his eyes –unaware that he'd closed them- and exhaled shakily. Reaching up to wipe the spittle from his lips, he paused. Red droplets littered his fingers.

Oh, that wasn't good.

* * *

 _10:21 AM_

Egil was concerned. For numerous reasons.

Number one was lying on the bed he kept glancing at out of the corner of his eye.

Shulk had been listless all morning. He didn't get up for anything; not even for yesterday's leftover food his stomach rumbled for. He was eerily still, and if it wasn't for the shallow rise and fall of blankets, Egil would've assumed the worst.

Concentrating on the work in front of him proved impossible, and he gave up with a frustrated noise. He got up and went over to the bed, crouching next to the Homs.

Blue eyes were open partway, dull and unseeing. Lips wheezed in air with a faint whistling noise. Egil brushed matted locks away from a sweaty forehead. Shulk's skin was scalding. Egil frowned, and headed to the bathroom to wet a cloth. He filled it with cold water, wrung it out, and returned to the bed where he gently wiped heated flesh.

Shulk barely reacted except to shiver.

His frown deepened. It was baffling to be honest. How could someone who was burning up feel cold? Egil only remembered bits and pieces of himself being sick, and that was more than a thousand years ago. He recalled making a point of avoiding sick people afterwards, but of course Shulk would be the one to throw it all out the window.

Egil sighed; time for plan two.

He slid his hands under the blankets, and carefully scooped Shulk into his arms. Still no reaction. Nudging the bathroom door open, he skillfully turned the bathtub tab onto cold with his foot. When it was halfway full, he unceremoniously dumped Shulk –clothes and all- into the water.

 _That_ sparked a reaction.

Shulk screeched, eyes widening as his hands clawed wildly at the sides of the tub to get out. Egil held him down with ease. That was troubling too.

"Be still," he grunted, ducking a flailed fist. He made quick work the vest and sweater, throwing the soaked garments over his shoulder. The lanyard was left alone. Pants proved to be a challenge to get off, and Egil eventually gave up, seeing no way to get them without half-drowning a still struggling Shulk.

Not that it wasn't tempting.

Exasperated, he smacked the blonde upside the head.

Shulk sobbed.

Egil froze. Cautiously, he prodded that same spot to make sure he hadn't accidentally brain-damaged the Homs. Like a switch that'd been flipped, Shulk became as pliant as a rag doll. He didn't struggle to get away, he just sat there shivering. It was a tad pathetic, but Egil refused to feel guilty.

He murmured meaningless reassurance under his breath as he washed sweat off, and cupped water to sprinkle on heated skin. A pale hand reached out, and tentatively gripped his chest armor. It wasn't doing anything, so Egil allowed it to remain.

Eventually, the Machina deemed his endeavor a success; Shulk's fever didn't feel as sizzling as it had ten minutes ago. He drained the tub, and pried the hand off him. As he stood to retrieve a towel or multiple, the hand lashed out and caught his own. The strength behind it surprised Egil.

"Don't go," Shulk said childlike, blue eyes pleading and not entirely _there_ , "Please. Everybody leaves 'cause of the cold. Mummy and Daddy won't wake up. I don' wanna be alone no more…" he trailed off, eyes rolling back.

Egil had to lunge to make sure Shulk's head didn't crack against the edge of the tub.

He felt shaken. In more ways than one.

* * *

 _10:44 AM_

Egil sat on the edge of the bed staring at his hands.

Shulk was bundled up and unconscious to the world.

A fuse inside him was slowly burning what rope it had left, counting down the seconds to exploding panic. Helpless was an emotion Egil never wanted to associate with again. He'd had plenty of it in his long existence, and he wanted to strangle Shulk for making him feel so out of his depth that he was like a fish floundering in _water!_

Oh, the urge to kill had never been so powerful before.

But he refrained.

Barely.

"Dickson?"

Egil turned his head slightly. Shulk was blinking sluggishly, trying to make his eyes focus.

"Dickson?" the blonde called out again. His voice was tiny and unsure, but it wasn't the voice of a lost child. Small mercies. "Dickson!"

Egil knew that Shulk and his friends used to have a connection with Zanza's giant disciple that stretched back years. He didn't know the level of attachment, but he did know that betrayal hurts. And he knew that the most treacherous betrayal was of the heart yearning for the presence of that same someone in its weakest, most vulnerable state.

" _Someone I was close to made it for me."_

" _Was?"_

" _He died."_

Egil rested his hand on Shulk's head and stroked his hair, "Go back to sleep."

"Egil?"

"Yes, it's me. Go to sleep."

"Do you ever miss your father?"

The question took him by utter surprise, and his hand stilled. "Yes," came out of his mouth unbidden, and he tensed as if preparing for a fight.

"Me too," Shulk confessed. "I wish I still had one."

Egil's mouth was dry. He had to swallow several times before responding, "Go back to sleep, Shulk."

Shulk's breathing settled with a wheeze.

Linada had assured Egil that the power would be back soon. Egil vowed to build a backup generator after this. He resumed stroking blonde hair.

Linada had also asked about Shulk's condition. She worried that he would deteriorate quickly seeing as they had no way of getting food and medicine in with the blackout.

She was right.

The days blurred together after that.

* * *

 _Day 7_

 _12:35 PM_

A familiar female giggle roused him from sleep. "Don't even think about it," Egil muttered as he opened his eyes blearily.

Vanea stood over the bed with a look of innocence. "I have no idea what you mean, dear brother," she whispered cheerfully. "He looks so peaceful," she added, eyes straying to the blonde.

Shulk was sprawled halfway on top of his chest, sleeping soundly with deep even breaths and no trace of that damnable whistle. The fever had broken last night, and Egil felt like he could breathe again, the tight knot in his chest finally relaxing. The last few days had passed like a fever dream –Egil snorted inwardly- and he remembered only flashes.

Getting up to rewet the cloth.

Coaxing the blonde to drink and helping him swallow.

Cleaning up vomit.

Forcing him to eat when he was lucid enough to nibble half-heartedly on stale bread.

Soothing him when he cried out for Dickson.

It was all so _draining._ There had been one terrifying moment when Shulk couldn't stop coughing, and Egil, out of sheer panic, curled around the Homs, buried his face into a too-hot neck, and prayed to Lady Meyneth to make it stop; _pleasemakeit_ stop.

Shulk shifted in his sleep, mumbling incoherently. Egil's hand was immediately on his back, stroking, silently shushing the blonde as his knuckles ran down a knobby spine. Shulk subsided, and snuggled deeper into his side.

Vanea cooed.

Egil was too tired to care.

"Where is Linada? I thought she'd be here by now, poking and prodding."

"She's outside with Shulk's friends." That jolted him awake.

"They're here?!" he hissed.

Vanea gave him a puzzled frown, "Of course they are. They've been very worried."

Instinct wanted him to bolt upright and not appear weak. Logic told him to calm down. He was torn, didn't like it, and his free hand gripped the edge of the mattress tightly as a result.

It was as if Vanea read his mind and understood his inner turmoil, "Do not worry, brother. Linada sent me in ahead to see if you both were ready for visitors. I will tell her Shulk is resting, and is not to be disturbed."

Egil breathed a sigh of relief, grip slackening, "Thank you sister." He gestured to the blanket scrunched at their legs, "Can you…?"

"Of course." She pulled the blanket up until it covered Shulk from the neck down and Egil at mid-torso. Her hands picked up his free hand, and clasped it to her face. "I'm just glad you're alright," she murmured thickly. Egil saw her swallow.

He gently tugged out of her grip, and cupped the back of her neck, drawing her down to knock his forehead against hers. "It'll take more than a Homs sickness to bring me down," he said firmly. His lips quirked up, "Shulk will have to try harder than that."

That provoked a laugh, quickly stifled. "He's not out to get you, Egil, no matter what you think."

Egil scoffed, "He's only here to test my patience in every way imaginable."

"You care about him."

"And that's his greatest offense."

Vanea rolled her eyes good-naturedly. She stood up, "Linada is waiting for me."

He snagged her hand, "One of Shulk's friends. The blonde female one who was Lady Meyneth's vessel."

"Fiora," Vanea supplied.

"Fiora," he said, "She likes cooking does she not? Linada once mentioned it in passing. Shulk will be hungry when he wakes up."

"I'll be sure to tell her," she said, smiling.

He sighed, and released her hand. Her footsteps echoed as she walked to the door.

"I think a talk with Father is long overdue," he admitted to the ceiling.

Footsteps stopped, "It is."

"I miss him." _I'm unsure of my welcome._

"He misses you too." _He still loves you._

Egil swallowed the lump in his throat, eyes shutting tightly. They were still closed long after Vanea left, door humming shut behind her. Slowly, with a shaky sigh, he reopened them.

"I'm still killing you for this debacle," he said absently as his eyes traced the smooth metal ceiling.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Shulk mumbled into his chest.

Egil smiled tiredly. _Brat_.


	6. Chapter 6

Welcome back, guys! So this prompt was actually inspired by Cry's play through of Xenoblade Chronicles. I believe it was Session 1 part 2. I could be wrong though so don't quote me on that :)

Glassdrop: I'm glad that you're feeling better. And *happy dance*! Yay, I'm converting people to the wonders of Egil and Shulk! Truthfully, they're my OTP at this point in time, but I can definitely see them as a Brotp too. Thanks again for reviewing! :)

Xervail: I have a lot of things to say to you. Firstly, for some reason, when you sent all of those Favorites and Follows, I thought you had somehow Favorited and Followed the story twice, and it took me a solid 5 minutes to realize you'd actually also Favorited and Followed me as an author. I'm so dumb sometimes :) Secondly, you're the _first_ person to have Favorited and Followed me as an author! Thank you so much! I feel so honored. Thirdly, I'm glad you found _Contagious_ so enjoyable. I aim to please ;) Fourthly, yes. I was hoping someone would get the reference. Fifthly, THANK YOU SO MUCH again for all of your support. It means a lot.

And thank you Totodile exe for the Favorite and Follow!

Enjoy!

* * *

525\. Jump (Sharla and Fiora)

"See? I told you we would make it before dawn!" Fiora practically pranced ahead. Sharla trailed behind at a more sedate pace, rubbing her eyes blearily.

Fiora had somehow convinced her that it was a _good idea_ to get up at some ungodly hour, and hike through Tephra Cave. Sharla groaned. It had taken a good fifteen minutes for her to be persuaded out of bed. Fiora had to poke, prod, and plead her case. Finally, the younger had given her such a downtrodden expression that Sharla sat up, and grumbled that she needed a half hour to get ready.

The time it took was reduced to a grudging ten minutes when Fiora told her not to bother with breakfast. _"We'll be back before you know it!"_

Cool air rushed to greet her face as they left the cave. Sharla blinked, and looked around. There was some sort of hangar to her right. She walked closer to inspect it. "Are these ether cylinders?"

Fiora hummed a _yes,_ and came up beside her, "This is where Colony 9 gets ether for the Anti-Air Battery."

"Impressive," Sharla murmured. "Colony 6 doesn't have anything like this. We have mines to get ether, but it's nothing like this on-hand stash."

"Shulk used to think it was made by an ancient civilization, which I guess in a way, it _was."_

"What do you mean?"

"Judging from what he's seen, Shulk now thinks this place used to be part of a High Entia airship."

"High Entia? Here?" Sharla was surprised. "I thought they were big on the whole stay-a-secret-from-the-other-races thing."

"Maybe they didn't always live on the head?" Fiora shrugged, tucking a stray blonde lock behind her ear. "Who knows? They were around much longer than Homs, so anything is possible."

"It amazes me that this kind of technology existed back then. Do you think this was before or after the Bionis and Mechonis fought?"

"Before," Fiora said immediately, "The Machina wouldn't've been very welcoming after the war."

"They helped us." _And Dickson._

"They were tired of the fighting by then." Something flickered in green eyes, but disappeared before Sharla could decipher the emotion. "But I didn't being you here for history," Fiora went on cheerfully, "C'mon!"

She took Sharla by the hand, and dragged her away. Sometimes, the sniper had to wonder if Fiora had somehow managed to retain her strength as part Mechon. Her grip definitely suggested it.

"Alright, alright! There's no need to pull!" Sharla had to laugh. The persistence reminded her of a younger Juju, dragging her away from friends when she chatted for "too long". She was led to a ledge, "Whatever it is, I'm sure it can-," she sucked in her breath with an " _oh_."

It was an overlook of Colony 9. With the dawn sun stretching out of its bed on the horizon, it kissed the water good morning, and threw red, orange, yellow, purple, and some pink streamers across lazy rippling waves. The stone and plaster of buildings lit up with a soft golden hue. But the night critters had yet to fully step down, and Sharla could still hear crickets chirping and the rustle of wind through the grass. The whole view seemed picturesque, straight from an oil painting. Maybe it was a mirage.

"What do you think?" Fiora's voice snapped Sharla out of her reverie.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. Then she shook her head, "No, I don't think 'beautiful' does this justice." The wind, done playing games with the greenery, reached up and stirred her hair.

Fiora closed her eyes in bliss, "The breeze feels so good."

"Mmmm." A question niggled in the back of her mind, "Not to spoil the moment or anything, but why?"

"Why what?" Green eyes reopened and looked her questioningly.

Sharla gestured all around her. "Why this? Why me? I'm honored you wanted to show me this, but out of everyone, why me and not Shulk?"

The peaceful expression faded, the soft smile fell as eyes dimmed. Fiora sighed and plopped down, crossing her legs and leaning back on her hands. "Truthfully, I wanted to talk. And Shulk…well, he wouldn't understand." Blonde bangs fell forward as she tilted her chin down, shadowing her features.

Sharla knelt down, and placed her hand on a pale shoulder. "Whatever it is, I'm listening."

With that, she made herself more comfortable, and waited. No answer was forthcoming immediately. That was okay. As a medic and sometimes as a friend, she was used to lending an ear to battle-worn comrades who felt like they couldn't open up to their families. It helped that she had grown up used to waiting out Juju's sulky silences. Younger siblings tended to prepare you for a lot of things, Sharla thought fondly.

Fiora fidgeted, dug up grass, fiddled with her hair, and tugged on the edge of her skirt. Her lips endlessly contorted as if unsure whether to smile or frown. Sharla waited patiently. Finally, Fiora sighed loudly and drew her knees up, resting her head on crossed arms.

"Did Reyn or Shulk ever tell you about the time when the Mechon attacked Colony 9?" she asked quietly.

Sharla straightened, surprised. In truth, she should've expected this. "Only bits and pieces," she admitted. _Like your death._

There was another long pause. Sharla was just about to prompt her gently when Fiora spoke again, "Did you know we jumped from here?"

"Pardon?"

"Before the Mechon attack, Reyn had been sent to collect ether for the Anti-Air Battery. He asked Shulk to come with him, and I… I met them at Tephra Cave's entrance because Reyn forgot to bring the containers to carry the ether." Fiora rolled her eyes fondly, "You have no idea how relieved I am that he's become more dependable. I… I didn't fully trust him with Shulk's safety back then. He had a way of getting into trouble when it was completely avoidable."

"Oh, believe me; he still gets into trouble," the sniper said dryly. She waved a hand, "Remind me to tell you about Reyn and the Button later. It's a group favorite. Practically a classic."

Fiora's lips quirked up. She giggled, and Sharla mentally tallied a victory.

"I'd like that," she said wistfully. She played with her hands before confiding, "Sometimes, I feel stuck. Like I'm running in place. No matter what I do, I can never catch up. A small part of me even screams that it's all just a dream."

Sharla reached over and took Fiora's hand, running a thumb over her knuckles. "This is real," she said firmly and squeezed the hand, "Don't doubt it."

The hand tugged out of her grip, "It's not that easy."

"You lost control of your body for months, Fiora. I think it's natural to feel this-,"

"I've never _had_ control!" Fiora snapped.

Surprised at the outburst, Sharla fell silent. Fiora took a few short breaths. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, sounding close to tears.

"Don't be."

Fiora looked at her, not quite meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry," she repeated helplessly, swallowing thickly.

"If I were angry, I wouldn't still be here."

"I suppose." The unconvinced tone made Sharla frown.

"We're friends, right?" she asked.

"Of course!" was the immediate response, green eyes wide and earnest.

"Then _trust me."_

"Alright," Fiora took a deep breath, "When we were younger, Shulk, Reyn, and I were inseparable. We did everything together; we were a team. Those days were some of my best memories. I was truly happy for the first time since my mum passed away." She made a waving motion, "Then, we did what all kids do. Grow up. Shulk spent more time in the lab, Reyn was a Defense Force recruit, and I… I delivered packages and lunches.

"Sure, we still had our misadventures, but they were few and far between. I don't know… I started feeling like, like I wasn't _doing_ anything." She laughed self-deprecatingly, "Maybe that's why I wanted to tag along to Tephra Cave. Not so much for Shulk's safety as my selfish, childish desire to feel whole again.

"Then the Mechon attacked, and there was no time to think. So we jumped," Fiora gestured to ledge.

Sharla's jaw dropped, "That's more than fifty feet!"

"I know," Fiora's grin was wide and sudden, "It was _fun_!" She hugged her knees, "I finally felt like I was in control. Like I was alive and not a husk." She glanced at Sharla, grin fading, "You must think I'm a freak."

"No," Sharla's mouth was dry. She wet her lips and admitted, "I can't say I understand completely. I always had a purpose whether it was taking care of Juju or injured soldiers. There was never time to feel empty, not with so many depending on me."

"See? You're not selfish like I am. You do stuff with your life while I sit around like a waste of space."

Sudden fear squeezed Sharla's heart. She'd lost comrades to their inner demons before, and it never failed to make her feel worthless as a medic and a friend. If she couldn't save people from themselves, then what was the point?

The fear bloomed into anger.

She gripped Fiora by the shoulders tightly. Ignoring the wince, Sharla snarled, "Look at me. _Look at me!"_ She waited until Fiora met her gaze. "My life is not worth more than yours any more than yours is worth mine." Her voice softened, "Never say you're a waste of space, Fiora. Shulk and Reyn started their journey for you, and _never_ faltered, even when Meyneth was in control of your body. They love you."

"How can they? Everything that _could_ kill me makes me feel _alive_! When I fought Metal Face in the invasion, I was enjoying every second of it!"

"What would Dunban think?" Sharla asked quietly.

Fiora flinched as if Sharla had struck her. She held her hands out, palms up beseechingly. "Please don't tell him," she pleaded.

The world seemed to teeter on the edge of a precipice, waiting for Sharla's answer. The medic and friend in her were at odds with each other. The medic clearly recognized that Fiora was a danger to herself, but the friend didn't want to hurt her.

Finally, Sharla settled for a compromise.

"Lie down," she told Fiora, "On your back."

Hesitantly, the blonde complied, eyes filled with confusion.

"Have your arms by your sides, palm on the ground. Relax. Good. Now close your eyes."

"Sharla…"

Sharla only smiled and covered uncertain eyes with a hand. " _Trust me."_ Eyelids fluttered shut; she removed her hand. "Now, describe to me where you are."

"We're… at Mag Mell Ruins," Fiora said, brows furrowing.

"Don't tell me where _we_ are; describe the place around _you_."

"Um, well, the ground is dry and hard…?" At the sound of Sharla's hum of approval, Fiora grew more confident, "I think there's a stick digging into my back. The grass is long, but springy. It's the morning; I can see the red gold tint behind my lids."

The plan was working; Fiora's breathing calmed, chest rising and falling slowly. Her head turned to the side. "Sharla? I feel weird."

"Do you feel a pulsing sensation?"

"Yes."

"How does it feel?"

"I like it. It's a steady presence."

"Good. I'm going to tell you a story." It was a story that a Nopon merchant had once told her. Here was the basic gist: since Nopon were nature enthusiasts, they believed that everything around them breathed life, even rocks and twigs. If anyone wanted proof, all they had to was lie down and listen. After a while, they would hear it: the world's heartbeat, deep and strong. Its presence reminded all creatures that they were never alone.

And Fiora needed to know that badly.

Truthfully, Sharla knew that the "heartbeat" was only your own pulse. Lying on the ground and relaxing only magnified the feeling. It was a great meditation exercise, and offered people a balance of floating and grounding.

Fiora lied there, silent and contemplative for a long moment. Then she sat up, and took Sharla's hand. "Thank you, Sharla," she said, squeezing, "I needed to hear that."

Even so, her gaze strayed to the ledge unconsciously, _longingly._

Sharla made a snap decision.

The medic in her screamed and mutinied.

She drew Fiora to her feet, and led her over to the ledge. Ignoring the puzzled look, Sharla glanced over the edge. Her heart skydived; the water was so far and seemed so shallow. It was hard to believe the childhood trio hadn't suffered any injuries from jumping. A leap of faith…

"Sharla?"

"I think I understand," the gunner said, eyes never leaving the water. "I didn't before, but now I think I do. You're terrified of letting go because you don't want to lose everyone. When the Mechon attacked, you were forced to let go. And you loved it. But you were never _alone._ In all the instances you let go, you had friends around you." She finally looked over, "And that's why you brought me here today, isn't it?" her voice was calm.

Fiora met her gaze evenly. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course."

"Dunban is always telling people to seize their own destiny," the blonde mused. She started tugging her hand away.

Sharla caught it before it escaped, and interlaced their fingers together. She grinned wryly, "Individual destiny or not, people also need support to actually _get_ there."

"Are you sure?"

"Not at all. Heights and I do not mix. But you're a friend, so I think I'll make an exception just this once."

"Thanks Sharla," Fiora squeezed her hand again. "This means a lot."

"No problem," she grimaced and cleared her throat, "On the count of three?"

Their voices mingled.

"One."

Sharla's free hand shook. She clenched it into a loose fist. Her mouth was dry. The cliff seemed to grow staggeringly. A hollow buzz echoed in her ears.

"Two."

She snuck a peek at Fiora. The blonde was staring straight ahead. Her lips ghosted a smile, green eyes shining. Taking a page from her book, Sharla straightened and looked ahead, never again down.

The dawn was beautiful.

"Three!"

They leapt. The air smothered their screams as the world rushed by in a molten swirl of color.

Then the water swallowed them.

* * *

"Shulk! Reyn!" Fiora ran ahead.

Sharla trudged behind at a more sedate pace. _Isn't this familiar?_ She thought, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

The sun was high in the sky by the time the two females had decided to go home. They'd spent the morning swimming and splashing each other. After surfacing from their jump, Fiora had laughed with such infectious glee that Sharla joined in immediately. The adrenaline rush had been nothing short of amazing, and she still felt the after effects tingle through her body.

She caught up to Fiora, barely stifling a snicker as the other female practically bowled over her two childhood friends from behind. Sharla outright laughed at their twin looks of befuddlement.

"You're wet!" Reyn exclaimed.

"Excellent observation, Reyn," Sharla snorted. She pressed against his side. He thankfully took the hint, and wrapped a warm, dry arm over her shoulders. "Tell us more, oh wise one," she continued teasingly.

Reyn huffed. "Well, it's true!"

Fiora giggled like a squirrel on ether.

Shulk and Reyn both shot her wary looks, and tried to discretely back away. Sharla kept Reyn from going anywhere, and Fiora's hand lashed out and grabbed Shulk's wrist. They gave the boys innocent smiles.

Reyn shifted uncomfortably as Shulk smiled back uncertainly.

"Are you alright?" Shulk asked to break the silence.

"I'm more than alright!" Fiora clapped her hands together. "I've decided something important."

"And that is…?"

Beaming, she clasped Reyn's right hand and Shulk's left, and held them close to her chest.

"No more looking back," she announced, shooting Sharla a secret grin, "It's a new dawn."


	7. Chapter 7

Hey everyone! Sorry if this one was a tad late. I had a clear idea what I wanted to do with this, but I kept getting side-tracked. Plus, Dickson didn't want to be written at first, but I eventually convinced him. Also, I'm surprised and amused how much reception "squirrel on ether" got from the last chapter. I shall have to keep that in mind for future reference;)

Glassdrop: Thank you! Fiora always struck me as the secret thrill seeker of the group. Good thing Sharla was there to balance her out. Who knows what would've happened otherwise. Thanks again for the review!

Xervail: To be fair, I only have two stories on this site with _Beyond the Skies Collection_ being my main side hobby for now. So the Author Favorite and Follow was a nice surprise :) As for your review, I'm glad I managed to keep people in character. It's a relief. And Fiora is one of your favorites, you say? Well, she definitely doesn't lack prompts on my list. We'll be seeing her again soon hopefully. (I say hopefully because it's my muse that decides these things). Thanks for reviewing!

little miss saigon: Reyn owns all of our lungs because he is our special snowflake;) Dunban skipping is a terrible thing to behold for his enemies (but yes, I'd want to see it too). And I'm glad I managed to keep Fiora and Sharla in-character. Thanks for reviewing and all of the Favorites and Follows! It means a lot:)

PerfectFlyer: *Explodes in happiness* I woke up one day, and saw that I had six reviews, and I was like "Holy shit, what did I miss?" Each individual review made my day so infinitely brighter. I want to touch on all of them so here goes. Chapter 1: I love writing Egil and Shulk interactions; they're by far my favorites. Meyneth teaching Egil old earth antics never fails to make me smile. Poor Kallian. At least Alvis got a good laugh in. Chapter 2: Riki understands the need to get away with shenanigans; he's a good combo of fatherly wisdom and everyone's favorite uncle. Chapter 3: Otharon was definitely interesting to write. I have some prompts with him and Juju so there will be some more cool grandfatherly-ness in the future. Chapter 4: Cheeky is a wonderful word to describe Alvis. Holy moly, I want to write from his perspective, but I wasn't sure what traits to aim for so thank you for the unintentional input! Chapter 5: Again, Egil and Shulk. Greatest duo ever. And yes, I wish Dickson and Shulk were touched more on in-game (a flashback would've been nice; like a montage of childhood memories after Shulk defeats Dickson). Chapter 6: I'm glad I nailed your favorite character! That's a relief. Sharla's voice came easier for that scenario so yeah. Thank you so, so SO much for all of your kind words, and thank you for the Favorite and Follow.

Enjoy!

* * *

84\. Rhythm (Dickson and Shulk)

"Please tell me that's your impression of a chicken on fire."

Dickson barked a laugh as the kid startled, arms flailing to catch him from face planting into the floor. The eleven year old scowled, pursing his lips and turning away. "Go away, Dickson," he muttered, crossing his arms. The stain on the far living room wall suddenly became intensely interesting; Shulk could stare at it for hours if only to avoid the all-knowing smirk.

"And miss the impromptu sacrificial ritual?" Dickson leaned on the doorframe, and waved a hand airily, "By all means, don't let me interrupt the proceedings."

The tips of the kid's ears turned pink as he stiffened visibly. "S'not a ritual," the words were barely audible.

"Then what, pray tell?"

More fidgeting. Shulk shuffled his feet, and didn't answer.

Dickson's grin widened, "Does this have anything to do with the annual dance coming up?"

"No!" Shulk spun around, and glared as fiercely as someone his size could manage though his eyes didn't quite meet Dickson's. Dickson snorted.

"Kid, you ain't fooling anyone." He chewed the end of his cigarette absently as he took out his lighter. Lighting up, he inhaled deep and exhaled a smoky sigh.

"You said you wouldn't smoke in the house anymore," Shulk grumbled, wrinkling his nose.

"My house, my rules."

"Broken rules."

"Still my house."

" _Our_ house," Shulk insisted though there was a distinct flicker of uncertainty in the boy's demeanor.

The smoker sighed inwardly. He thought he'd squashed those insecurities years ago. Would there ever come a day when the kid wouldn't think he'd be thrown out like last week's garbage?

Dickson pushed off the wall, and approached with an easy-going swagger. "In your dreams, brat," he sneered. The response held no bite, and a friendly, calloused hand pressed onto blonde hair, ruffling it. Shulk allowed the motion for a few seconds before swatting the hand away and glaring, cheeks puffed.

It was an adorable pout.

"So are you going to ask for help or not?" Dickson asked, trying not to smirk _too_ widely.

"I don't need help."

An eyebrow rose. Dickson shrugged, "Alrighty then. Suit yourself. If anything, this will make you easier to pick out of a crowd. Not many people can move like they've stuck their hand in an electric socket." He started turning away, then added as an afterthought over his shoulder, "I'm sure Fiora and Reyn will be thoroughly entertained."

There was a squeaked plea.

He paused. "Hmm?" he put a hand to his ear, "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Another rushed squeak-murmur.

"I don't speak mouse."

"I said," Shulk gritted out, "Help me."

"So demanding," Dickson drawled, "Weren't you taught manners, _boy_?"

Shulk composed himself, clenching his fists. " _Please_ help me, you old coot."

This time it was Dickson who narrowed his eyes, "I ain't old. I'm finely middle-aged."

"If you call wrinkles fine," was muttered under breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" Then, "So will you help? Please, Dickson?" Blue eyes were suitably hopeful and pleading.

Dickson finally relented, "Alright, alright. I'll show you a few moves; can't have you committing mass murder with your two left feet." He shifted away for more room. "Now watch carefully…"

* * *

Dickson collapsed onto the couch, "This is hopeless. How can _anyone_ be this bad?"

Unwanted images of a drunken Mumkhar and Dunban "dancing" in tandem on the table flickered through his mind, and he groaned, running a hand down his face. That was one Defense Force celebration he wouldn't mind forgetting. He took it back; Shulk wasn't _that_ bad.

Except that he _was_ … It was truly baffling. The kid had no sense of rhythm whatsoever, and if this is what he was like sober, then any and all alcohol was going to be kept far, _far_ away in the future.

Dickson paused and reconsidered. Then again, he did have that ongoing bet on which sort of drunks the trio would turn out to be. His money was on Reyn being the weeper, Fiora the wild card, and Shulk the sleepy, cuddly lightweight. Dickson considered himself an expert on people. Of the drunken kind. He'd never been wrong before, so he would collect his dues and go on his merry way.

And there was the matter of oh-so-delightful blackmail…

That did it. Shulk was going to get wasted the night he turned legal. No ifs, ands, or buts.

But Dickson was digressing.

He peeked through his fingers. Shulk's face was angled to the floor, body fidgeting uncomfortably. The kid swallowed several times in a valiant attempt to remain calm as his fingers pushed and fiddled with each other nervously.

"So there's no hope?" Shulk asked quietly, voice on the wispy side.

"Not that I can currently see."

"Oh."

Dickson cursed inwardly. Normal quiet Shulk was a breeze. Angry sullen Shulk was amusing. Teary distressed Shulk threw him a curveball layered in spikes.

"I'm sorry for wasting your time," Shulk said somewhat formally and oh how Dickson disliked the tone, "I better go start counting down the days." He waved his hand vaguely as he shuffled for the stairs.

Suddenly, it hit Dickson. _Counting!_

"Get your as-butt back over here! Shulk!"

The kid looked at him warily as he retraced his steps. Dickson clasped his shoulder. "Kid," he said solemnly, "I may have just figured out a solution." He pushed to his feet, and maneuvered them both so that they would have enough space. Flicking Shulk's forehead, he continued, "Things are never simple with you, are they? Instead of letting go and just feeling the music, you have to make things _technical_."

Sighing exaggeratedly, he began the first set of movements, "Here we go; follow along. One, two, three, four…one, two, three, four."

* * *

This time when Dickson collapsed on the couch, it was out of pure relief. Finally, _finally_ Shulk could pass as a fairly competent dancer. For a specific set of moves, but that was beside the point.

"You are too difficult for your own good," he said, pointing an accusatory finger at Shulk.

But the younger blonde was too busy bouncing off the walls in excitement as he ran through the moves again and again, muttering under his breath, "One, two, three, four…"

Watching him made Dickson feel tired. He fanned himself with the nearest magazine. "Oi, kid, go to Reyn's to show off or to do whatever it is you kids do."

Shulk brightened with the suggestion. He ran to the door, but then oddly, he stopped. The pause was long enough that Dickson was about to ask what was wrong when the kid whipped around and shot towards him, pouncing.

The wind was knocked out of him. Thin arms wrapped around his waist. "Thank you, Dickson," was mumbled into his chest.

Surprised by this turn of events, not that he would admit it, Dickson patted the head presented to him, "Yes, yes, I'm amazing. Now go away and leave an old man to smoke."

Instead of letting go, the grip became tighter. "Not old. Finely middle-aged."

Dickson snorted, "Stop sucking up and go."

Shulk released him, eyes averted, and padded for the door. "Can I sleep over at Reyn's if his mum lets me?"

"Sure, sure," he waved a hand to hurry the kid along. His cigarettes were calling to him.

Once he heard the front door click shut, he shook a fresh one loose, and held it between his teeth as he searched for his lighter. Patting down his person came up with nothing. He frowned in annoyance; where was the pesky thing?

It'd been in his pocket the whole time he was teaching Shulk, and when he'd collapsed on the couch and when… oh.

It'd also had been within grabbing distance if the perpetrator was close enough.

The brat had stolen his lighter!

The revelation of that slowly sank in. He let out a booming cackle.

Dickson wiped a fake tear from his eye.

 _They grow up so fast._


	8. Chapter 8

Well, this one took awhile. I had a lot of fun writing it even though I kept getting sidetracked. I would've uploaded it sooner this morning, but Fanfiction was not a happy camper on my computer. *shrugs*

Note! - Arielle and Lesunia are both NPCs in Alcamoth.

little miss saigon: If you ever do post that modern day drunk AU! I'd love to read it. Shulk becoming a pickpocket was for Dickson's health. Hehe. I love writing kid Shulk. He's too adorable. Thanks for reviewing! :)

Xervail: *pumps fist* I'm glad the last chapter was amusing. Dickson and kid Shulk are definitely up there in the list of "Fun to Write". Thanks for the review! :)

Glassdrop: Pickpocket Shulk is the best. And knowing Dickson, _of course_ he wouldn't be offended. *rolls eyes fondly* I'm glad it was funny. Thanks for reviewing! :)

PerfectFlyer: Picturing Dickson as a sassy grandma has made my day. That image certainly makes him easier to write, so thank you :) Shulk is definitely too awkward for anything social related. I'm glad the relationship flowed together well; I love writing it. Thanks for the review! :)

OnePirateWolf96: Hi! I'm happy you like the relationship between Shulk and Dickson. I agree, the game never showed it enough. I'll definitely write more of Shulk and Dickson (or Dickson and Dunban) in the future because they're fun to write. Oh, and even if the prompt characters aren't specifically Dickson, Shulk, or Dunban, there's always a chance of one or more of them featuring in it. Thank you so much for all the Follows and the Favorite. And thank you especially for the review! It means a lot to me :)

And thank you DJ Absolution for the Favorites and Follows!

Alright, enough chitchat from me ;)

Enjoy!

* * *

64\. Powder (Kallian and Melia)

Little feet skittered down the marble floor. Hearing the clank of guards' footsteps, a white blur darted behind the nearest stone pillar. A head peeked out as the patrol halted, two High Entia males. Tiny wings fluttered in anticipation. One of the males looked back, and the head disappeared back around the pillar, barely stifling giggles.

Controlling the sounds, Melia cautiously peered around again. The two guards were talking in low voices. The one who had nearly caught her elbowed the other, and they shared a laugh. Another moment passed before they continued their rounds. She crept out of her hiding place, but let out an _'eep!'_ as the guard looked over his shoulder, and winked at her. Shyly, she gave him a wave before proceeding on her way.

She was a girl on a mission.

Making it into the First Consort's wing was relatively easy. Despite knowing that everyone was busy with preparations for the Moon Ball that night, it was still a jolt seeing how empty the hall was on this end of the palace. As she passed the various doors, another giggle escaped her.

She couldn't wait to surprise everyone tonight.

At the end of the hall on the left were the First Consort's personal rooms. The door slid open, and Melia peeked inside. Mother wasn't there, so Melia gathered her courage and stepped inside, the door closing behind her. She looked around wide-eyed. The furthest she'd ever been in the First Consort's wing was Kallian's chamber.

It was a richly furnished chamber befitting someone of Mother's status. A lush dark blue carpet that you could sink into ankle deep stretched across the floor. The walls were a lighter blue trimmed with white. A queen-sized canopy bed took up most of the room, its see-through curtains neatly tied back. Across from it at the foot was a fireplace with a mesh screen.

It was so different from the Second Consort's warm toned rooms. Everything looked so untouched; it was hard to believe anyone lived here.

Melia let out the breath she didn't know she was holding, and took another step forward. Maybe she shouldn't judge so quickly. After all, Mother did have a lot of duties to attend to, so maybe relaxing was a scarce, fleeting thing. Even so, the First Consort always managed to keep a fine, regal air about her, and a cool beauty that Melia admired and wanted to copy.

Her search revealed a medium-sized vanity table on the far side of the room, beyond the bed. She pulled out the stool and climbed on. Her legs swung freely as she looked over the various bottles, containers, and tubes with curious wonder.

Mama never had this much makeup in her room. There was no need, she'd tell Melia. _A flower does not think of competing with the flower next to it. It just blooms._

But Mama was gone now, and while Melia missed her fiercely, she couldn't help but want Mother to notice her more. It made her feel guilty, like she was betraying Mama somehow, but was it truly wrong? She had two mothers which was one more than most people, and it made her feel special.

She imagined the surprised and impressed look Mother would give her when she made her entrance at the ball. It was enough to make her wriggle excitedly in the stool.

But where to begin?

She reached for the nearest tube and popped the top off. Bright red lipstick gleamed as she twisted the bottom to push the tip up. Melia puckered her lips, and applied the lipstick. She'd seen females mush their lips together after applying lip gloss, so she did the same.

A glance into the mirror caused her to drop the tube, startled. Stark red contrasted sharply with pale skin. Carefully wiping the smeared edges, she smiled tentatively. Her reflection smiled back.

She kind of liked it.

A round silver container was next and revealed white powder under a fluffy brush. Melia took a moment just feeling the softness. It felt like baby Nopon fur. She pressed it to her cheek. So soft… Clapping it to her face produced a cloud of white powder and she sneezed.

Melia giggled. This was fun.

Some of the powder had gotten on top of the lipstick, so she reapplied it. She smoothed the powder with her hands, and then wiped her hands on her skirt. Dark rouge was selected for her cheeks, and in Melia's opinion, it complimented the lipstick nicely. There were so many eye shadow colors that Melia felt slightly overwhelmed. She finally went with lavender because it reminded her of some flowers in Mama's garden.

The mascara was awkward in her hands, so only the tips of her eyelashes were covered. Clumsiness and hesitance described her motions with the eyeliner; it made her uncomfortable having the tiny brush so close to her eye, but she soldiered on.

Melia admired her reflection; she could hear Mother tell her what an amazing job she did, and maybe give her some pointers. Melia would be the envy of the court; all females would fawn over her.

Her eyes were drawn to clear bottles lining shelves above the mirror; Melia had to stand on the stool to reach them. She pressed the top to dispense the liquid, and a spray of tulips scented the air. Melia smiled ear-to-ear. Perfume! It would complete her new look. But which one?

Immersed in her options, she didn't hear footsteps come down the hall or the door slide open until an outraged voice screeched, "What on Bionis do you think you're doing?!"

Utterly startled, Melia lost her balance on the stool, and fell. Her right knee slammed onto the edge of the table hard, pain jolting up her leg. Her arms flailed for something to hang onto, and found purchase on the shelves. Unfortunately, the thin wood refused to support her weight.

The whole bottom of the shelf collapsed, sending multiple bottles to the floor. Most shattered on impact. Melia turned around, clutching her knee.

First Consort Yumea's eyes met hers coldly.

* * *

Kallian was directing last minute preparations when the Emperor approached him. The servants bowed respectfully. The Emperor dismissed them with a wave.

"Kallian, have you seen your sister?"

"No, Your Highness, I have not" he responded. The concern on age-worn features was enough to make Kallian drop formalities briefly. "Is there something wrong, Father?"

His father frowned, "No one has seen Melia all afternoon."

"Was a search party dispatched?" Kallian asked, straightening.

"It's too soon for an official search." Father must've read the worry on his face. A calloused hand clapped his shoulder, "I'm sure it's nothing, my child. Melia has played hide-and-seek with her governess before."

"But never on an occasion where the Antiqua family has to showcase a strong front for the nobles!" he retorted, voice rising.

Father shot him a warning look. A batch of passing servants glanced their way curiously. Kallian ducked his head, flushing slightly. "Sorry, Father."

"You are not at fault, nor are you wrong. This is unusual behavior." Their conversation was cut short as a guard approached.

"Your Highness, Lady Arielle and Lady Lesunia have arrived."

"Already?" Father asked, surprised. He chuckled, "I should know better than to predict Lady Arielle by now."

The High Entia females in question drew near. Lady Arielle wore a simple viridian colored evening gown with a fur coat on top. Her short gray hair framed her face, and accentuated the dimples in her warm smile. "My Emperor Sorean," she greeted with a curtsy.

"My Lady Arielle," his father responded with equal warmth. He bowed to her, which was an honor in itself. They clasped each other's forearms in a show of deep familiarity and trust.

Kallian knew the Lady Arielle and his father had a friendship that stretched back into childhood. If politics had gone differently, Lady Arielle would've been his mother. The thought bothered him out of respect for his mother, but sometimes even he wondered…

"Lesunia, my darling, come greet the Emperor and his son."

Lesunia stepped forward. "Emperor Sorean, Prince Kallian," she acknowledged them each in turn, curtsying deeply. Her low voice was water running over cool stones, and when she stood up; her eyes met Kallian's boldly. Long gray hair, a shade lighter than her mother's, was pulled back in a half-up, half-down style with the front locks falling down past her shoulders.

The indigo gown she wore brought out the flecks of purple in her normally intense blue eyes, making them appear nearly violet. Everything about her screamed smooth, sleek viper, and Kallian swallowed. "Lady Lesunia," he managed before turning to his father.

He didn't appreciate the knowing, amused look he got.

"If you would excuse me, Father, there are last minute preparations that still require attention," Kallian said meaningfully. _I'll find Melia._

"Please do so," his father answered with a grateful and approving nod.

Kallian turned to the females. "Please excuse my unhospitable behavior, my ladies." He gave a short bow.

Lady Arielle waved him off as Lesunia's eyes darted between him and his father. However, she gave no other sign that she'd caught the hidden message. She merely inclined her head respectfully.

Kallian turned and walked away purposefully, keeping his stride even and collected.

He tried to ignore the feel of calculating eyes on his back.

* * *

"Melia?" Kallian called as the door hissed open, "Are you in here?"

There was no response.

He stepped fully inside his sister's chamber, and let his gaze sweep the contents. It settled on the lump in bed. For a moment, he was exasperated. "Melia, I know you're in here. Come out please." When that didn't work, Kallian sighed and crossed the minefield of toys strewn about the floor.

Reaching the bed, he silently thanked the stars that he hadn't tripped and broken his neck. Sometimes, Melia's room could prove to be more treacherous than a battlefield. He made a note to self to make sure she cleaned it later.

"Honestly, to still be in bed is-," he pulled the covers off –receiving no resistance- and paused. What he had thought to be Melia were actually pillows. "Melia?" His eyes roved the room again. It was empty. To be sure, he checked in the closet, under the bed, and the balcony overlooking the Second Consort's garden.

Melia was nowhere to be found.

Resolving to search the gardens next, Kallian almost missed the soft sniffle. He paused; hand on the doorframe as he looked over his shoulder. Straining his ears, he waited and was rewarded with another sniffle followed by a hiccup. He determined the sound emitted from the pile of stuffed animals in the far corner of the room next to the doors leading to the balcony.

He approached and kneeled beside the pile. "Melia," he called softly, "I know you're hiding in there."

"No m'not," Melia's muffled voice mumbled.

"Father is waiting for us."

"I don't care."

"The ball is about to start."

"I don't care."

Kallian frowned. "But you've been looking forward to this all year, remember?"

"I _don't care!"_ The scream made him flinch, eyes widening. A loud sob broke out. It snapped Kallian out of his brief surprise.

"I'm coming in," he said firmly, hands digging through the pile.

"No! No, Kallian, _go away!"_ The panic in his little sister's voice did nothing to deter him.

He finally unearthed Melia, who was lying on her side, curled up, face buried in a giant stuffed Nopon's belly. Hooking his hands around her waist, he dragged her –and the Nopon she refused to let go of- closer. "What's wrong, Melly?" Kallian murmured, stroking her hair. The tiny wings fluttered whenever his touch brushed their bases.

Melia stiffened, but then slowly relaxed. "Nothing, Kally," her voice wavered and cracked.

"Doesn't sound like nothing."

"Go away."

"And leave you here alone and miserable? I think not."

"Go away!"

"No."

" _Please_?" Melia whined.

"Fine." His sister stilled; her breath hitching. "But you must give me a hug first."

Silence.

"Please, Melly?"

Haltingly, his sister disentangled her arms from the Nopon, and pushed herself up, her back to Kallian. When she turned around, her hands covered her face. She pushed herself blindly into his awaiting arms. Only when her face was securely buried in his shoulder did her arms wrapped around his chest.

Kallian enveloped his sister in a makeshift nest of limbs. That proved the breaking point for Melia, who cried and clung to him tightly. He rocked her gently, rubbing circles on a trembling back. "Tell me what's wrong?" he tried again.

Melia shook her head violently.

"Then how am I supposed to make it better?"

She shrugged weakly.

He exhaled slowly, and hooked his fingers under her chin. There was something distinctly crumbly on her skin as he tilted her face up.

Kallian's jaw dropped, eyes widening. "By the stars," he breathed.

His sister's face was a smudge of color. Tears ran freely down her face hand-in-hand with black trails of what he guessed was eyeliner. Red lipstick was smeared everywhere, giving Melia the grotesque, bloody look of having bitten another living being. The makeup caking her cheeks did nothing to hide the swollen mass beneath her right eye.

"What happened?!" he demanded, tightening his grip to prevent Melia from escaping his hold. Melia whimpered and shut her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "Please don't hit me."

A sick ball of shame and guilt constricted in his chest, and his hold loosened, arms falling slack to his sides. A dull ringing echoed in his ears as his mouth dried. Kallian was faintly surprised when Melia didn't take the opportunity to escape, instead lying limply and meekly against his body.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled again.

"No," Kallian shook his head though Melia didn't see it, " _I'm_ sorry. It was not my intention to frighten you." Melia exhaled shakily, clearly relieved. Kallian didn't show the mixture of anger and worry that dueled for dominance on his face.

"But this cannot be ignored, Melia," he continued. His sister stiffened once more, hiccupping. "As your older brother, it's my duty to protect you, and I cannot do that unless you tell me what happened."

"But you can't," was whispered.

"Try me." When Melia made no effort of explanation, Kallian went with his last resort. "I will get Father if you do not wish to speak to me," he threatened.

"No!" Blue eyes shot open and looked into their match pleadingly.

Kallian resisted the urge to cave. "Now Melia. Please."

And so, the full story came tumbling out of her lips; how she snuck into the First Consort's wing even though she knew she wasn't supposed to be there without Kallian at her side; how she went through Mother's makeup, and how Mother caught her putting it on. Her voice shook as she recounted how she bumped her knee –showing Kallian the giant blue-black bruise as proof- but Mother didn't help her, only screamed at her. When Melia had tried to explain her reasoning, Yumea had struck her across the face with a closed hand.

She'd been escorted back to her room, and locked in for the afternoon. No lunch had been brought, and no healer had been sent. Yumea had also forbidden her from attending the ball, saying that wasteful people needed to be taught harsh lessons.

Melia ended her story with, "All I wanted was to look pretty for Mother!" New tears filled her eyes. "But now she hates me and it's all my fault!" she wailed.

Kallian had listened to the account, stunned. That didn't sound like Mother at all. He knew she'd been feeling stressed as of late, but this blatant display seemed out of character. But the proof was right before his eyes, and deep, deep down, he knew denial wasn't going to heal those bruises.

"Melly," he said, hoarsely. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Melia, what you did, did not warrant that. Going through another person's possessions without permission _is_ wrong, but Mother or anyone else for that matter has no right- absolutely _, no right_ to strike you under _any_ circumstance."

"But I ruined her makeup," Melia said miserably.

Kallian caught her chin again, and was relieved she didn't shy away. He made sure to punctuate his next words, "You are worth the world a hundred times over," and meant it. "And certainly more than a few pounds of makeup."

"Really?"

"Really," he assured, kissing the top of her head.

He stood up, bringing Melia with him. "Come, let's clean you up." Kallian helped her over to the bed. Melia sat on the edge, eyes on the floor.

As Kallian reached for the cloth and washbasin on the side table; the door slid open. Tensing imperceptibly, he schooled his features, and turned to face the intruder, deliberately shielding Melia from view.

Lady Arielle stepped into the room, and looked around. "Well, this isn't the restroom," she said mildly, humor in her tone. Kallian didn't trust it for a moment.

He forced a smile, "No my lady, I'm afraid not. Unfortunately, this wing is off-limits for guests; I can escort you back-,"

She waved him off, "Oh, no need. I may be old, but I'm not directionally challenged like that one guard who pointed me here."

Kallian didn't believe that either. All guards were instructed on the perimeters of the ball, what wings could be accessed by guests and what was off-limits.

The woman was up to something.

"I take it this is the Princess Melia's chamber?" Lady Arielle asked, eyes flitting around with interest, and lingering on the walls. "That is a very pretty shade of purple."

"Mama picked it," Melia piped up. She peeked around him curiously.

"Then she has good taste, Princess Melia," Lady Arielle smiled warmly, curtsying.

Melia hesitantly smiled back. It was a small quirk of lips, but no less genuine.

"My daughter, Lesunia, also loved playing with dolls at your age. You have quite the collection, and all of them are in admirable condition."

"I take care of them," Melia said shyly.

"Do you now?" The question wasn't condescending. "Impressive. Quite the responsibility."

"It's no trouble. Mama always said to take care of those you care about." Her tone drooped, "She's gone now."

"A shame," Lady Arielle didn't miss a beat, "I would've loved to talk to her. She sounds like a lovely person with an equally lovely daughter."

Melia's smile grew into a beam, "You really think so?"

Kallian stepped forward, eager to get the situation back under control, "My lady, I insist, I'll escort-," But by stepping away from Melia, he granted the woman a full view of her. It was enough to take in the damage.

Lady Arielle frowned, eyebrows furrowing. "Dear me, what happened?" She deftly side-stepped Kallian, and sat on the bed next to his sister.

"I was bad," Melia responded quietly, fingers fiddling with each other.

A hard, knowing glint flickered in the woman's eyes, but it was so fleeting, Kallian wondered if he had imagined it. Lady Arielle turned to him, and gestured for him to bring the washbasin. There was such command in that little gesture that he obeyed.

She took the basin from him, and placed it on the floor near her feet, wetting the cloth in one smooth motion. Tilting Melia's head up with a brush of her fingers, Lady Arielle gently wiped her face, taking extra care around the swollen part under her eye. "I see you got into your mother's makeup."

Melia looked at her in awe, "Are you psychic?"

Kallian narrowed his eyes. _Or were you spying?_

Lady Arielle surprised them both by laughing. She leaned down to clean the cloth and wrung it out. "Sometimes, I wish I was. Then, maybe, I could keep up with my daughter. But alas, I only have my experience to guide me." Seeing twin looks of confusion, she elaborated, "I believe it's a rite of passage for any young girl to break into a mother figure's makeup stash." She chuckled, "I've done it to my mother, and I caught Lesunia doing the same."

"Mama never had a lot of makeup in her room," Melia said, "I don't think she liked it very much. She told me makeup is a mask that's hard to get rid of once you put it on."

Kallian stared.

"Yes and no," Lady Arielle responded, "Yes, because makeup should never be used to hide you. No, because while inner beauty is a wonderful thing to behold, a little makeup can give a girl the self-confidence to show off that side of herself. The most important thing to remember is this," she tapped Melia's cheek for emphasis, "Be your own kind of beautiful."

There was a silence as Melia absorbed that. Then, "I want to try again." She looked down at her hands, and clasped them together. "Not a lot and maybe not every day, but it was fun putting it on, and I want to do it again."

"Well, there is a ball we should be getting to," Lady Arielle said brightly.

"I can't. Mother forbids it."

"And what was her wording, princess? Do you remember?" a quiet, dangerous quality entered the woman's tone that went unnoticed by Melia.

His sister paused, scrunching up her face to recall. "She said that she wouldn't allow the Antiqua family to be shamed by me."

"And therein lays the solution."

"What do you mean?" Melia asked, puzzled.

Kallian, however, caught on quickly. "You mean to make her one of your party." _Any shame Melia might wrought would bring shame upon Lady Arielle's family and not the Antiqua._ "Clever," he conceded.

"Does this mean I can go, Kallian?" Melia wriggled with newfound excitement.

"It's risky, but I think it could work. Just be sure to avoid Mother; do not actively seek her out, and stay close to Ladies Arielle and Lesunia."

"I can do that!"

"Alright," he nodded at Lady Arielle, "The princess is your responsibility for the evening."

"It'll be my pleasure," the woman said, smiling.

"I'll be on my best behavior, Lady Arielle," Melia promised.

"You may call me Arielle, sweet child."

"Then you call me Melia."

"Well then Melia. Could you fetch your mama's makeup, please?"

His sister leapt off the bed, and darted out the door.

Kallian turned to Lady Arielle, "What game are you playing?"

"I play no game, Prince Kallian. I wish to help. That is all."

"But _why_? There has to be _some_ hidden agenda, _some_ secret motive," he said, frustrated.

"Has Yumea really whittled down your trust to the point that you question simple kindness?" she asked quietly.

Kallian fell silent, stunned for the second time that day.

Lady Arielle sighed and looked off to the side, "I may not agree with some Sorean's policies such as the two consort system, but I also don't agree with harming a child no matter the reason." She met his eyes squarely, "Your mother crossed a line."

Despite himself, Kallian flinched.

Lady Arielle's gaze softened, "But I can see where Yumea falls, you, Kallian, rise."

He had nothing to say to that. And he was saved from scrambling for words when Melia burst back through the door, carrying a small bag. "Here you go," she said, handing the bag over and reclaiming her seat on the bed.

"Prince Kallian, would you be a dear, and grab that desk chair for me?"

He did so, and she sat facing Melia. He listened absently as she went through the contents of the bag, explaining each tool's purpose calmly and patiently. He watched Melia's rapt attention to the tutorial.

He wondered why circumstances couldn't be different. Why couldn't Lady Arielle be First Consort? Why and how did politics change enough that Lady Arielle couldn't marry Emperor Sorean? Why couldn't Lady Arielle be his birth mother?

Kallian knew the answer. _You wouldn't exist without Yumea._ He was tied to her by blood, by half of her DNA flowing through his veins. The realization was isolating. Why _did_ there have to be two consorts? He understood the reason for the Homs intermarriage program all too well, but why, then, did there need to be a High Entia consort?

Was his life in vain? Was there any point being born to an inevitable fate?

A small hand nudged his arm, and he looked up from his hands. Melia smiled, talking at him from what seemed like the other side of a tunnel. Her features glowed; the makeup wasn't as noticeable as her disastrous first attempt. She'd gone with light foundation, faint pink blush, clear lip gloss, and a lavender eye shadow. She was beautiful.

Yet his eyes were drawn to the bruise makeup couldn't quite cover up.

No.

There was a reason.

Melia.

He would protect her until he had nothing left to give.

 _That_ was his purpose.

"Kally," Melia huffed, "You're not _listening_."

He snapped out of his reverie. "Yes, Melly?" he asked out of reflex, flushing slightly as he caught Lady Arielle looking on with barely disguised amusement.

"Can I put makeup on you?"

"Me?"

"Yes you, silly. Please, please, please, _please_?"

Blue eyes pleaded with his.

Kallian caved.

* * *

Lady Lesunia raised a brow at him. Ignoring the silent question, Kallian led her out onto the dance floor.

"You look…interesting."

"I do," he acknowledged calmly.

"I didn't know orange eye shadow was made in that shade."

"You learn something new every day."

"The red lipstick doesn't go with it."

"…"

"Nor the green blush."

"…Are you saying my sister is color-blind?" he leaned in close, "If so, I may be inclined to agree."

The corner of Lesunia's mouth quirked up, not quite in a smirk, but close.

Kallian found it infinitely better than her normal aloof stare.

"First Consort Yumea looks ready to kill," she noted, looking over his shoulder.

He made a noncommittal noise, and raised their joined hands, so Lesunia could twirl underneath.

"Are you worried?" her eyes challenged his.

Kallian met her intense gaze calmly, "To be honest? I couldn't care less."


	9. Chapter 9

Well, I'm glad I finally finished this. I had no idea where this was going to go; all I knew was I was in the mood for Reyn and Shulk interaction. So this happened. I feel like this piece is a mixture of venting and character study. We've all felt stupid in school at some point in our lives; we've all felt frustrated with school at times.

Note: Dyslexia - a learning disorder characterized by difficulty reading

OnePirateWolf96: Arielle and Lesunia were fun to write because I feel like it added a depth to the problems within the royal family. You're right. NPCs can be so important to the plot. Why use original characters when you have a bunch of little characters to play with? Thank you for reviewing! :)

Glassdrop: If I had any art skills, I would totally draw Kallian with makeup on. Sadly, I don't :( Thanks for the review! :)

Xervail: Yay! I love getting characters in-character! *victory dance* It _is_ sad that Melia getting hit could be true. Very sad indeed. I loved writing Kallian and Melia interacting alone; I think Kallian is a great older brother if a bit naive and clueless at times. I also enjoyed writing Arielle and Lesunia because what little you know about NPCs can be twisted into something greater. And that detail about Lesunia you mentioned? I did not know that, so I looked up her quest on the wiki, and it said she gets becomes friendlier if you take her quest. So thank you for bringing that detail to my attention and thanks for reviewing! :)

SuperCalebX: Chapter 6: I certainly have prompts for more female interaction. It's just a matter of getting in the mood to write it. I'm pretty sure there are other stories with girl/girl interaction. There's definitely some on Archive of our Own, but they're on the M-rated side, and I'm not sure if that's what you're looking for. Chapter 7: Dickson and Shulk together always makes for a good laugh! :) Chapter 8: I agree, poor Melia. At least Kallian has her back. Thanks for the review and thanks for the Follow! :)

little miss saigon: Your little kid makeup story made me laugh. I'm so glad everyone is breaking into makeup stashes ;) Melia putting makeup on Kallian makes my day too. Thanks for reviewing! :)

psionicPeaceful: I'm so glad you're enjoying yourself! And rereading? *victory dance* Chapter 4 was definitely a thing. Sometimes, I feel as though I add too much detail, so it's definitely a balancing act. The update schedule might actually get a little skewed because school is starting for me soon. It really depends on my schedule, my muse, and how long each chapter takes because I know each chapter varies in length. Thank you for the review, Favorite, and Follow! :)

And thank you THEDARKN1NJA and Icestorm238 for the Favorites and/or Follows.

Enjoy!

* * *

382\. Wasted (Reyn and Shulk)

Reyn wasn't the best student.

He had a short attention span, and where it took a couple of minutes to explain a concept to an average confused student, five more explanations were required for him. He was a hands-on learner, but the closest subject for that was chemistry; something he was banned for life from due to The Stinky Surprise (as dubbed by the class later). In his defense, the instructions weren't even that clear! How was he supposed to read them when the letters in the words kept switching around? Where were the pictures or diagrams or whatever?

Normally, Shulk was his partner, and the blonde would dive for the instructions. It wasn't intentional snubbing; Reyn knew his friend was a stickler for details, following directions to the T. So he didn't hold a grudge. Besides, Shulk didn't even know about his "difficulty" reading.

Reyn wasn't stupid. He _wasn't_! But that word had followed him around the playground when he'd told a close friend in first grade why he had trouble keeping up with the Reading Circle. The word was hurled at him during recess, and clung to his side once during class by that same "friend" who assumed Reyn was making stuff up.

Tired of the name-calling at that point, Reyn grabbed the opening eagerly. He laughed the stinging barb off, and told everyone that it _had_ been a lie all along, and that he _chose_ not to read out loud in class. Everyone was properly awed by his rebel streak, and he became _the_ person to be friends with.

The pressure had really been on when Reyn outright disobeyed his teacher for the first time. It made Reyn feel awful, his first grade teacher was so nice, but he couldn't back down; not with every kid's eyes on the exchange. The principal's office became a regular occurrence.

His parents, of course, were concerned, but Reyn had refused to tell them. He didn't want his parents thinking he was stupid either.

Eventually it became a habit.

Eventually it built him a reputation with every teacher in Colony 9.

Eventually it dissolved into a vicious circle; teachers were harder on him on principle, the material was difficult to process, he was too stubborn –and a smidgen afraid- of asking for help, he became more fidgety in class, which in turn, brought his teachers' wraths down, and-

Eventually it reached the point where Reyn just didn't care anymore.

* * *

Reyn was screwed.

"The Impossible Test?" Shulk echoed his thoughts out loud, "I don't understand."

The classroom murmured general agreement and curiosity.

"It's exactly as stated, Shulk," their teacher leaned back against the desk. He pushed up his glasses, and continued, "Every year, the colony requires that we assess our final year students before they graduate. The test was, and still is, deemed 'impossible' by the teachers as the failure percentage is extremely high."

"How high?" Shulk pressed.

Reyn recognized the gleam in his friend's eyes; the gauntlet had been thrown.

"Ninety-six percent."

The low background murmurs rose to dismayed cries. Reyn's head slowly sank into comfort of his crossed arms. He groaned.

Fiora spoke up, "Sir, how will this affect our grades?"

Their teacher sighed, "It won't."

Reyn perked up.

"But it will still heavily impact your future."

His head sank back down.

"How?" Fiora sounded baffled.

Their teacher didn't respond, only thumped a pile of papers on his desk. "These are study guides. I've compiled a list of everything we've covered, haven't covered, and topics from past grade levels you should revisit." He pushed off the desk, and started passing them out, "Remember to get some sleep, eat a good breakfast, and use the test approach methods we've gone over in the past. Who knows?" He passed by Reyn's desk, and slapped a packet down, "Maybe one of you will surprise us."

* * *

"I just don't get it!" Fiora cried as they exited the school building, "What's the point of taking an impossible test?"

Reyn listened to her rant in unusual silence, inwardly agreeing with every word. He didn't understand the logic behind it either. Then again, he rarely understood the school's methods.

"But it's not impossible," Shulk said matter-of-factly, fiddling with his backpack straps.

"What do you mean?" Fiora asked.

"Weren't you listening? Our teacher said that the fail percentage is ninety-six. That still leaves a four percent chance of success."

"Uh, Shulk?" Reyn cut in pointedly, "That still sounds pretty impossible."

"Highly improbable, yes. Impossible, no." Shulk sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "What I don't understand is the late notice. Maybe part of the problem of it being 'impossible' is the lack of study time?"

Fiora nodded in agreement as Reyn shrugged helplessly. Lack of notice or not, a giant study pack was crammed in his backpack, weighing at least a pound.

"Do you think any of us will get a B or higher?" Fiora was asking.

"Maybe," Shulk muttered, "Just maybe one of us will." The blonde stared at his feet, kicking a pebble.

"You'll pass," Reyn said confidently, nudging his friend's shoulder, "If one person could beat impossible odds, it would be you."

"I wouldn't say that…" Shulk trailed off; face suddenly brightening as if light bulb just blinked on. "That's it!" He ran off, leaving Fiora and Reyn staring after him in confusion.

"Should we…?"Reyn gestured to the dust cloud Shulk had left in his wake.

"Make sure he doesn't run into a door out of sheer excitement again?" Fiora finished, lips twitching.

"That," he agreed, mirroring her grin. They jogged after their friend. Reyn snorted. When Fiora looked at him questioningly, he laughed, "How much money do you want to bet he hits the back of his head again?"

"Reyn!" Fiora shoved him, green eyes betraying her amusement.

"What? It's easy money! I gotta make my living somehow, especially since this impossible test is going to scare away any possibility of a future."

Fiora frowned.

Reyn looked away from the burning gaze, feeling his cheeks heat up. Did he say too much?

He glanced over, and saw her open her mouth, then close it. Something softened in her eyes, and she placed a hand on his arm. "Fiora?"

She smirked, "I bet you ten Gold he won't run into the door." She used the grip on his arm to propel her forward, taking off down the street with a laugh.

"Hey! No fair!" Reyn sprinted after her.

* * *

Shulk wasn't hard to catch up to. Where Shulk ruled the classroom, Fiora the functional parts of being alive; Reyn surpassed them both on the physical front. He overtook Fiora easily and continued running.

Spotting Shulk barreling towards his house, Reyn skidded to a halt a few yards away, cupped his hands around his mouth, and bellowed, "Shulk! Behind you!"

The blonde turned to look at him, gaze partly wild. His feet never stopped their momentum. The door was only a few inches away…

 _Ten Gold for the win!_

…when the front door opened, and two hands steadied Shulk.

Reyn fought the urge to whimper, and sink into the ground.

"Dickson!" Fiora called out greeting as she caught up to them. Hands on the knees breathing hard, she smiled. "I knew you would be back today," she chirped brightly. Green eyes shot Reyn a sly, smug look. Reyn sighed with over exaggeration, and rolled his right arm, silently admitting defeat for the moment.

Shulk looked between the two of them, confused.

They both smiled innocently.

"What are you brats up to, eh?" Dickson inquired.

"Oh, um."

They exchanged looks before Fiora volunteered, "Potential study group session?"

Dickson crossed his arms, "What for?"

"This 'impossible' test at school tomorrow," Shulk pitched in.

" _The_ Impossible Test?" At Shulk's nod, Dickson groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "That's tomorrow? Great… just great."

"What's wrong?" Fiora asked tentatively.

Dickson waved her off, "Nothing, nothing, plans to rearrange, and no time to do anything," his voice was caustic. He fixed Shulk with a mean eye, "I want _some_ food left in the fridge by tomorrow. No more midnight raiding."

"That was Reyn!"

"Don't rat me out!"

Dickson sighed, and pointed at Fiora, "You're in charge."

"Actually," Reyn cut in, "I think I'm going to head home."

Shulk straightened, "What? Why?"

"I won't let you starve this time, if that's what you're worried about," Fiora said, crossing her arms and shooting him a concerned look.

Reyn rubbed the back of his neck, "It's not that. I just have a study plan of my own, that's all."

As one, Shulk and Fiora's jaws dropped, "You have a plan?!" Dickson only raised a brow at him. He flushed, his face matching the shade of his hair.

"It's not _that_ surprising!" he snapped, turning on his heel and storming away.

No one made a move to stop him.

Yet, even after he turned the corner out of sight, Reyn still felt the eyes burning into his back as he trekked home.

 _You're so stupid._

* * *

Reyn was utterly screwed.

No ifs ands or buts; there were screws out there, calling his name.

After the tenth incorrect math problem, Reyn pushed away from the desk. He stretched his legs out, placed his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. One crack, two crack, weird grainy patterns that comforted him whenever he decided homework was a hassle. His mind wandered.

Running both hands through his hair didn't help him concentrate; only pulled strands out when he tugged too hard. The clock read eight thirty; he'd been "studying" for over five hours now.

He didn't have a plan.

Why was he fooling himself? There was no way he would pass. Any future he had would go up in flames (not that he had one in mind). His eyes strayed to a framed picture of his family on his desk, and lingered on an older version of him sans the eyes; his dad. He remembered being ecstatic that day when his father finally got time off of the Defense Force. The day had been spent fishing on Agora Shore; Dad taught him basic camping skills. They caught fish, and Mum had shown him how to properly cook them over a fire.

Fish was his only edible dish.

 _Dad? Mum? Are you watching me right now? Just_ how _proud of me are you?_ "Not much, I bet," Reyn muttered, leaning further back and making the chair stand on two legs.

Crickets sang their nightly chorus outside his window. Reyn was tempted to pack up his books, and march over to Shulk's house. He made no motion to get up, mind shying from the very idea.

He just… didn't want to hold anyone back. Fiora was a pretty independent studier. She knew what she didn't understand, and focused on that, asking straight-to-the-point questions. She made up ways to remember things. Her regimen worked for her.

She wasn't the best teacher.

Shulk probably had the better explanations, but he lacked the patience to repeat the same thing over and over and over again. It always came as a shocker to Shulk when things that made crystal clear sense to him, utterly mystified another.

Combined, the two of them have saved Reyn more than a few times, helping him scrape by each year. It was sad and pathetic, and Reyn was thoroughly tired of it. But his mind would not focus, or when on the rare occasions it did, nothing made sense! It was frustrating and tiring, and Reyn couldn't help, but hate himself a little more each time an assignment was passed back, the red-inked teacher corrections glaring at him.

Mocking him.

 _See me after class._

 _Stupid._

Reyn hated the color red.

Yet, he always persisted on. Even when he knew failure awaited him at every corner, he still set himself up to fall. And fall he always did. You'd think he'd run out of glue to put the pieces together, but something soft and fragile kept him going, which made no sense, but it did.

" _Highly improbable, yes. Impossible, no."_

Hope.

 _Tomorrow's another day,_ Mum would always say.

Reyn eyed his school books before exhaling, and reaching for the history book –his weakest subject- propping it in his lap.

 _I'll try. For you Mum, I'll try. You too Dad._

He cracked open the book to a random page, tilting the chair back further. However, he'd overestimated the poor chair, and Reyn ended up hitting the floor, cracking his head hard.

Wincing, he prodded the spot and flinched. He rolled to his feet, heading for the kitchen.

He would try _after_ he got an ice pack.

 _Smooth move, genius._

* * *

Reyn fidgeted at his desk. His leg bounced up and down rapidly.

The classroom was ominously silent. People fiddled with their pencil cases, friends shot each other nervous smiles across the room.

Reyn ignored the concerned glances Fiora and Shulk kept blasting his way. He knew he didn't look ready to take a test. He knew his eyes were bloodshot. He knew he had slept through his alarm, forcing him to rush. He _knew_ having three cups of coffee was a bad idea in the long run.

He was going to crash so hard.

Was it wrong that he braced for the impact?

The door slammed open, startling more than a few students. Reyn flinched so hard, his pencil flew out of his hand. Fiora bent over to retrieve it, holding it out for him. His hand was shaking, he realized, as he reached out to take it, but Fiora wouldn't let go. Reluctantly, he met her gaze.

" _Relax,"_ she mouthed, giving him a small smile. Her fingers trailed up the pencil to his wrist, gently squeezing before retracting. She winked at him, turning her head back around. Reyn watched as her jaw dropped slightly.

Looking up, he understood.

"Dickson, what are you doing here?!" Shulk burst out in mortification.

"Proctoring, you brat," Dickson huffed, dropping a cardboard box on the teacher's desk. "Trust me, I didn't want to do this either, but the principal and I have a… agreement, and I've got to honor it or something." He waved a hand dismissively.

 _You mean he's still blackmailing you for showing up wasted at Bring your Parent to School Day back in fourth grade._ Reyn snorted. The basics of gambling had been taught that day with a game of strip poker. Long story short, Dickson kept losing.

The principal's expression had been priceless.

Reyn could see the scathing reply building on Shulk's lips, mouth twisting into an ugly scowl. Apparently, the blonde thought better of it, and bit his lower lip, sinking into his seat with a hand over his eyes like he couldn't believe this was happening. "Why?" he muttered.

"Oh, you think _you've_ got it bad?" Dickson snapped, "The principal took away my cigarettes! Said the smell might distract some of you. Bullshit if you ask me. I'm not even allowed a book, _oh no_ , I have to stare at you lot until you all finish!"

"There's no time limit?" a girl piped up bravely. The glare she received made her wilt.

"Unfortunately," Dickson growled. He opened the box, yanked out the test papers, and began passing them out. He talked as he went up and down the rows, "Eyes on your own paper, raise your hand if you need something, yadayadayada; how old are all of you? You know the drill. Oh, no, hold on, that reminds me…"

Done passing out tests, Dickson stood in the front of the class, drawing himself up, and glowering at them all, "I have a meeting with a lovely lady at 6." There were some catcalls from the boys in the back. Dickson smiled tightly, "Yes, yes, _very_ lovely lady. That being said-," he reached into box again, and slammed something onto the desk. When he took his hand away, a pistol was revealed.

Gasps erupted across the class before being abruptly choked off halfway. A tense silence filled the room.

"You couldn't bring your gun sword?" Shulk asked, not at all impressed.

Dickson looked disgruntled, "The principal took that away too. This is what I could fit into the box on short notice." He drew himself back up, clearly ignoring the amused snicker from his 'son'. "That being said," he glared at the class, yet somehow at every individual there, "If anyone of you is stupid enough to get caught cheating, and make me stand up my lovely lady friend because _believe me,_ Education Board procedures are longer than I am old, I _will_ shoot you to save me the time."

Nobody said a word of protest. Reyn caught Shulk's gaze. _"The gun is empty, isn't it?"_ he mouthed. Blue eyes rolled, a smirk tugging on pale features. Reyn smiled back, barely containing his laughter.

Dickson sat in the teacher's chair, throwing his legs up on the desk. He eyed the clock. The minute hand slowly, so slowly hit the twelve. It was 3PM. "Begin."

Reyn swallowed, and opened to the first page.

* * *

The multiple choice section kept tripping him up. Sometimes, he could swear the questions changed every time he reread them. It was an hour in, and Reyn found his attention wandering. He managed to catch it before it went too far on a specific tangent.

He was only on the second page.

Listening to the sounds of people flipping pages to move on, or the sound of longer scratches from Shulk's area, signified that a few people had even moved beyond that to the writing section.

Under pressure didn't even begin to cover it.

Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. He swiped a hand across his face, exhaling and slouching.

The letters kept rearranging. He was lost, confused, and out of his depth.

He couldn't do this.

A clack of a pencil hitting the floor, and Fiora's quiet _"shoot"_ broke the silence. Reyn glanced over, and saw green eyes giving him a significant look as fingers retrieved the pencil. He kept a discrete eye on her as she straightened, and flipped back through her test booklet, making a show out of checking her answers.

Fiora stopped on the second page, and tilted her test so her answers showed under her armpit.

Was she…?

Reyn couldn't help, but glance over at Shulk on his other side. The blonde was absorbed in writing something, brow furrowed as his lips moved silently as if talking himself through a problem. Then he glanced to the front of the room where Dickson was playing Hangman on chalkboard, twirling the pistol around a finger. The old man wasn't even guessing words, just drawing caricatures of students that he apparently caught in some form of cheating, and this was his way of warning them.

The words _Hit List_ at the top of the board didn't help the situation.

It wasn't that he was scared –alright, he wasn't _completely_ scared- that Dickson would shoot him; he just… didn't want to hold anyone back because of his stupidity.

Catching Fiora's eye, Reyn shook his head slightly, and refocused on his test.

His failure would be his and his alone.

* * *

Shulk was, of course, the first to finish. The clock read 5:15 when he put down his pencil, gathered his things, and walked to the front to deposit his test. His friend walked out of the room, arms crossed.

Reyn looked longingly at the door.

He shook his head, and rechecked all of his answers for the multiple choice section.

Now onto the short answers.

* * *

Slowly, but surely, people kept trickling out as time passed. There was a good chunk of students that finished around the 5:50 mark, Fiora among them. She waved at him.

He gave a little wave back, and refocused.

He was partway through the short answers, and he had to go back and make sure he had written what he meant to say.

Reyn sighed.

* * *

It was nearing 9:00 when Reyn finally finished.

He was the only one left in the classroom besides Dickson, who had given up death glaring him a half hour ago. Now he was perched on the teacher's desk, flipping through students' test booklets, looking at their answers.

More because he was sick of sitting for so long, Reyn rushed through the last question, squinting at it. His head was aching, and his eyelids were heavy. The combination of that and the question made him angry, and Reyn hurriedly scrawled his answer, slamming his pencil down when he finally finished.

Finished.

He was done!

A tired whoop of elation escaped him.

Dickson looked up at the commotion, a relieved look crossing his features.

"Done?" he asked, closing the booklet he held and dropping it back in the box.

"And ready for food!" Reyn confirmed, getting up and stretching his limbs. His legs were asleep. Reyn stomped to wake them up. He gathered his things, and walked to the front to drop off his test, grinning ear-to-ear.

Dickson threw the test into the box, and closed the lid. He scrubbed his eyes with a fist. "I'm so glad that's over," he muttered.

A wave of guilt hit Reyn, and he rolled his arm, "Sorry for making you miss your date, Dickson."

"Eh, you weren't the only one who made me wait, kid. You're not the only one getting murdered in the dead of night."

"Great. I expect you see you in a ski mask at midnight."

Dickson rolled his eyes, "Ski masks are for cowards. The ballsy killers do it face to face." Reyn didn't know how to respond to that. Dickson saved him by adding, "I have to go lock these up. You go home."

"See ya, Dickson!" Reyn waved and headed out.

The sight right outside the door made him pause.

Shulk was sitting on the floor across the door, back to the wall as he dozed. Fiora's head was in his lap, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Beside her was a white plastic box.

Reyn went over and nudged Shulk's shoulder. His friend blinked awake, "Reyn? You done now?" he yawned and stretched, gently shaking Fiora awake.

Fiora sat up, and let out a jaw popping yawn. "What time is it?" she asked, scratching the back of her neck.

"Around 9ish."

"Oh," she rubbed the crust out of her eyes before brightening, "Well, while we were waiting for you, I ran home to get these." She pulled the box over, and opened it. The smell of frosting hit Reyn's nostrils, and his tongue started salivating. "Victory cupcakes!" she said cheerily.

She handed him a blue-frosted one. He held it with both hands as if it were something extremely fragile and precious. He stared at her, "You are a goddess."

Fiora flipped her hair, "I try my best for the masses."

Shulk let out another yawn, "So who's up for going out to eat? The restaurants don't close until around ten generally."

"Nah, you guys go on ahead," Reyn said.

That woke them up, and they exchanged looks. Reyn refusing food? "What," Shulk said flatly, voicing their thoughts.

Reyn rocked back on his heels, searching for an excuse. "I'm really tired, and I just want to go home to sleep, you know?" He was backed by a yawn of his own escaping. He gestured vaguely, "You guys go have fun."

His friends exchanged another look.

"Are you sure?" Fiora asked, "We don't have to go out. The both of you can come over for a late dinner at my place, and then you're welcome to sleep on the couch."

It was so tempting.

But Reyn was stubborn if nothing else. "It's fine, really. I don't want to impose." He stood up, "I'll see you guys later." He waved with his free hand as he started walking away.

Footsteps followed him, and a hand caught his arm. Reyn turned to face Shulk. "Are you feeling alright, Reyn?" Blue eyes studied him intently.

Reyn shook off the arm, and plastered a smile on, "I'm fine. Just tired."

Shulk's gaze held him a few moments longer. Reyn fought the urge to fidget. Finally, Shulk stepped back and murmured, "If you say so."

Reyn walked until he was around the corner, then he broke into a jog.

* * *

A week passed before they were given their results.

Truthfully, Reyn had almost forgotten about the whole thing; life had gone on as usual. Then, their teacher announced they would get their results back today.

Reyn squirmed in his seat, fingers drumming on his desk.

The teacher passed back their tests face down. There were groans of disappointment all around. Their teacher pushed his glasses up, "I told you all that the fail percentage is high. Straight A students have bombed this test before so don't be too shocked if you don't do well. It _is_ the Impossible Test."

Reyn's booklet was placed in front of him.

 _Time for the verdict._

Flipping it over, he froze.

This couldn't be right. There was no way!

Looking over, he saw a thoughtful expression on Shulk's face as he skimmed through the test, reading teacher comments. "So," Reyn squeaked.

Shulk glanced up. Thoughtful morphed into concern, "Reyn? Are you alright? You look like you're about to throw up."

He cleared his throat. "So what did you get?" his voice came out steadier luckily.

"I got an eighty-eight percent. What about you?" He reached for Reyn's test.

Normally, Reyn would've surrendered his paper over without a fight. It was well-known that Reyn got the worst scores in the class; he had nothing to hide, but…

He shied from Shulk's reach, flipped the test over, and slammed his elbow on it to prevent any grabby fingers. They both winced at the loud crack. Reyn's elbow throbbed. But he ignored it, and rested his cheek on his fist.

"What did I tell you? Top four percent? Psh. Piece of cake for you."

Shulk blinked, "But I didn't get into the top four percent."

"Wha?" it was Reyn's turn to be confused.

"To get into the top four percent, and succeed, you have to score ninety percent or higher. That's what Dickson told me."

"Oh."

"Like everyone else, I 'failed'." Shulk sat back in his seat with a sigh, "To be honest, I think this test is rigged so that everyone fails. It's probably a way to make sure we don't get overconfident in the real world."

That didn't make Reyn feel any better.

"Reyn-," Shulk began as the bell rang.

Reyn stood up, and folded his test to cram into his backpack. "Who should give Fiora the homework assignment?" He studiously ignored the way Shulk was looking at him as the blonde rose to his feet as well.

"I'll swing by her place later." Shulk shook his head, "I was going to ask if you wanted to stop by the café to grab something to eat."

On cue, his stomach growled.

Shulk smirked, "I'll take that as a 'yes'."

* * *

Biting into the freshly glazed doughnut really hit the spot. Reyn happily helped himself to another from the box they were sharing. Shulk stared absently out the window, a cup of cooling coffee beside him.

"Just what was the point?" he mumbled to himself.

"Are you still caught up on that test?" Reyn asked with his mouth full, "You got one of the highest scores; aren't you satisfied?"

"Highest score or not, it wasn't enough to pass."

"You said it yourself. The test was probably rigged."

"Even so, I really thought for a moment…" Shulk shook his head and sighed. Blue eyes prodded him, "You still haven't said what you scored."

"Nothing worth noting," Reyn lied through his teeth, looking away.

"That bad?"

He tensed. Shulk didn't mean any harm by the question. He knew that. Yet the indifferent reminder of past failures wasn't something Reyn wanted to dwell on.

Slouching back into his seat, Reyn twirled the half eaten pastry in his fingers. "Not bad," he mumbled, shoving the rest of the treat in his mouth, "Just unbelievable."

Shulk looked ready to press further, but Reyn stood up, "I gotta use the loo. Watch my stuff?"

He didn't wait for a reply, just darted away.

When nature calls, you don't deny her.

When he finished, and returned to the table, he froze a few steps away. His backpack was open, and Shulk was bent over what looked like paper.

His test booklet.

"What are you doing?!" he hissed, sliding into the booth, and reaching to snatch the paper away. Shulk was faster, and held the test out of arm grabbing distance. Reyn would have to lunge over the table if he wanted it back.

He seriously contemplated it.

"Shulk!" he snapped.

The blonde didn't seem to hear him, mouth moving silently, brow furrowed as he read. "One hundred percent…?" was what Reyn heard.

"Give it back!" he demanded.

"Reyn," Shulk sounded hesitant. His friend glanced around quickly before leaning in close. "Did you cheat?"

Coldness flooded his body, chasing away his desperation. Was it really that bad? Never in his life had he scored higher than Shulk. Reyn had a hard time himself believing the result wasn't a mistake. He didn't want to approach the teacher because deep inside, he was terrified that this miracle would be taken away from him.

Snuffed out like a candle.

"Is that what you really think?" Reyn heard his voice from far away.

If he _had_ really found some way to cheat, why would he be the last one to finish? Why would he consciously risk Dickson's wrath? Was Shulk just messing around? Or had he seen Fiora's silent offering? Or was it something else?

Was Shulk… was Shulk upset with his success? Had he failed again in some way? A dark thought hit Reyn.

Was Shulk jealous?

"Well then, how do you explain this?" Shulk demanded, shoving the test in his face.

Reyn's hands shook. He clenched them tightly. The cold in his gut was melting, replaced by a tight burning coil of anger.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe as an honest job well done?!" Reyn's voice dripped venom.

"People don't make these sort of things happen overnight."

"Maybe it was a miracle then!" Reyn exploded, voice rising, "Or maybe this is the result of a guy who decides to study for a test instead of hanging with friends because he _knows_ he won't be able to focus. Maybe he didn't want to bother his friends. _Maybe_ he didn't want to be a _burden_!"

Shulk stared at him wide-eyed.

As did most of the other customers. The whispers began, but Reyn didn't stick around for them.

He grabbed his backpack and ran. He heard Shulk call his name, a curse, and money hitting the table before the door clanged shut behind him, bell ringing shrilly.

He managed to get halfway down the street before hands grabbed his arm, and yanked him around.

"What is your problem?!" Shulk demanded, glaring. "You've been acting so off lately, and your constant excuses are getting ridiculous. Quit being stupid and talk to-"

That word.

Stupid

" _Quit making stuff up."_

" _You're just stupid."_

Stupid

Stupid

" _Reyn, it's your turn to read out loud."_

" _No!"_

" _It's 'cause he's too stupid. He says the words don't make sense."_

" _Shut up!"_

Stupid

" _Young man, go to the principal's office this instant!"_

Stupid

" _I'm concerned about your son's abilities in class."_

" _See me after class."_

Stupid

Stupid

" _Stupid!"_

Reyn grabbed the kid by the shoulders, and shoved as hard as he could. "Shut up, shut up, _shut up!_ " he screamed.

The cry of pain filled him with a surge of sick, twisted pleasure. Breathing hard, Reyn opened his eyes –he hadn't realized he closed them- and his vision cleared.

Shulk lay crumpled on the ground.

Horror shot through him. Reyn knelt next to Shulk, and shook his shoulder. The blonde didn't respond. Reyn's worry grew.

Red trickled down Shulk's temple. It stood out starkly on pale skin, a teacher calling Reyn out on his mistake.

Trembling hands reached out to wipe it away. That was the moment Shulk woke up and flinched.

Reyn froze.

Then he fled.

* * *

Dickson was reading on the couch when Shulk stumbled in, one hand on the wall. Dickson took one look at the kid, and shot to his feet. "What happened?!" he demanded.

Shulk cringed, "Not so loud. Head hurts."

"Clearly." He placed a hand on the kid's shoulder, and steered him into the kitchen. "Sit," he ordered, turning to get the first-aid kit he kept under the sink. Shulk didn't sit so much as collapse into the chair.

Dickson took out a cotton swab and rubbing alcohol. "So…?" he looked expectantly at the kid.

"A wall and I got into a disagreement. The wall won."

Despite himself, Dickson snorted. "Did this wall have a name?" He tilted Shulk's head down, and combed his fingers through the mess. He dabbed at the wound. Shulk winced, and tried pulling away. "Hold still."

Shulk didn't answer his previous question. He stared at the table as Dickson wrapped a bandage around his head. Fingers drawing patterns on the table, Shulk asked quietly, "What's the point of the Impossible Test?"

Dickson tied the bandage and tucked in the loose ends, waiting for the explosion. Shulk didn't disappoint.

"I just don't understand!" he burst out, "What was the point? Why did the school create it?"

"The school didn't create it."

"What?" Shulk paused, looking over his shoulder, "What do you mean?"

Dickson sat in the other chair, exhaling loudly. "Don't you know your history? The Defense Force created it."

"We weren't taught that in class," Shulk said, narrowing his eyes.

Dickson sighed, "And that's the exact problem of the education system of today. You're not taught to think outside the box. Did you notice anything different about the questions?"

He could see the cogs turning in the kid's mind.

"The multiple choice section was straightforward, but the written parts were all scenarios. If the Defense Force created this, is it because they want to see how each of us think?"

"It's a pre-test of sorts used for recruitment." Dickson scratched his head, "They want to see how you might react under impossible odds, to make tough calls, and see your reasoning behind each one. Most folks fail because they don't have the right mindset; they've been taught to think inside conformed standards."

"I got an eighty-eight percent," Shulk informed him.

Dickson rubbed his chin, "You can still join the Defense Force even if you 'failed' the test, but you could also be an asset to them in other places. For example, the marketplace has a deal with HQ for emergency rations. Vendors and business people are needed for that. Or look at me, I build weapons in the lab, and I travel to gather information because those are things that suit my skills. Do you see what I'm saying?"

"Everyone has a future," Shulk mumbled. Abruptly, the kid shot to his feet, and raced for the door.

"Hey, wait a minute! Where do you think you're going?" Dickson yelled.

"To Reyn's!"

The front door slammed shut. Dickson shook his head, "That kid…" His eyes spotted a thick bundle of paper on the floor. Picking it up, he smoothed it out. It was Reyn's test. Seeing the score at the top, everything clicked into place, and Dickson chortled.

"Vangarre is going to have a field day!"

* * *

Reyn ignored the ringing doorbell, curling deeper into the couch. He pulled the pillow tighter around his head, wishing he could bury himself under a rock, and not exist for a while. He kept seeing Shulk's crumpled form in his mind.

Not only was he stupid, but he was such a coward.

"Go away," he mumbled into the cushions.

The ringing, thankfully, stopped after the third one. Reyn let out the breath he'd been holding, and burrowed deeper.

"Reyn?"

Startled, Reyn flailed when a hand touched his shoulder. He fell straight off the couch, pillows flying. Looking up, he met Shulk's gaze. "How, how did you-?"

"You keep the spare key under the welcoming mat," Shulk answered quickly.

There was a silence.

"If you want a free hit, you can have it," Reyn said flatly, staring at the ceiling.

Shulk plopped down next to him, crossing his legs. "I didn't come here to fight," he said quietly, "I came because I wanted to understand."

"How I scored higher than you?" Reyn smiled bitterly, "You seemed pretty sure I cheated somehow."

The small flinch didn't go undetected, and Reyn closed his eyes, inwardly cursing himself. Why did he always mess things up?

"I'm sorry." Reyn's eyes cracked open at the blonde's apology. Shulk rubbed the back of his neck, "I was wrong to accuse you. The whole thing was really…" he floundered for a word.

"Shocking?" the redhead supplied. Reyn shrugged, "I don't blame you. I can't believe they made such a huge mistake. I'm too stupid to score that high."

"You are _not_ stupid." The venom in Shulk's voice surprised Reyn. "You may have your moments, but who doesn't? What I think is _stupid_ is bottling up your problems, and shutting out your friends."

"But I _have_ told someone before," he winced, "It didn't go over well."

"What did you tell them?"

There was a brief pause. Then, "Can I trust you?" Reyn asked in a small voice.

Shulk met his gaze calmly. "Yes."

That was all it took for Reyn to spill everything. He told Shulk about his reading problems, how difficult it was processing rapid instructions from teachers, about his wandering mind. He told Shulk about the kid he'd told in first grade, how the kid didn't believe him, and called him stupid. The bullying, the rebel streak, the stubborn pride… it all came pouring out. It took him a long time to fumble through the explanation as he'd never really put his situation into proper words.

Throughout it, Shulk never stopped listening. Intent blue eyes never left his face as he spoke. He kept talking until his voice went hoarse. When he finally stopped, all Shulk said was, "You _earned_ that one hundred."

Earned.

He earned it.

A seed of warmth sprouted in his gut, and he threw an arm across his eyes as wetness pricked them. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Reyn let out a shuddering laugh. "I did it. I did it."

"You did it," Shulk agreed.

Later, Reyn would deny ever having cried.

He wasn't stupid.

* * *

Extra:

"There's one thing I'm still confused about," Shulk remarked as they sat on Reyn's couch, junk food spread out all around them.

"What's that?" Reyn paused with a chip midway into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed.

Shulk was frowning, "That last question on the test. The scenario where you choose one person to sacrifice out of your teammates," he elaborated.

Reyn blinked, "What about it?"

"All you wrote was 'No'."

"So?"

"Did you mean you would sacrifice yourself?" Shulk pressed.

"No. I can't be of any help if I'm dead." Reyn shrugged.

"Then, what did you mean?" Shulk asked, exasperated.

Reyn thought for a moment, wondering how to phrase it. "Dad always told me that situations are constantly changing, especially out in the field," he started, "Communication is important. So I thought: why should I decide anyone's fate if I'm not there seeing the situation through my own eyes? I don't know what's happening, only what the paper tells me. For all I know, it could be a fake report sent by an enemy."

"That's…" Shulk was at a loss for words, "That's actually really thoughtful, Reyn."

He rolled his arm. "I have my moments," he smirked. "Hey, if I can ace an 'impossible' test, then I figure anything is possible."

"Good point."

"Plus, Dickson was glaring at me."

"Also a good point."


	10. Chapter 10

Hey guys! So I realized it's been a month since the last update, but the delay can be summed up in one word: school. School work comes before fun work, unfortunately. I'm writing whenever I can.

I have Good News though! So, I have no idea how many people check an author's profile for updates, but if any of you care to check, there are five "little" surprises in-progress.

Notes - So if you do simple math, Dickson is "twenty" while Dunban and Mumkhar are four. If Dickson seems a little more... "immature" at some points, it was completely intentional. Also, I'm not around kids a lot, so I kinda just winged their perspective. I know four year olds aren't stupid; they just see the world differently from adults (as Jean Piaget proved). It's not going to be perfect, but yeah.

PerfectFlyer: I really liked writing Reyn. He's a character I can dig deeply on. He's so much more than the comic relief of the story. You can't give up on life! You haven't gotten to chapter 8 yet ;) (But no, in all seriousness, it's okay if you haven't read chapter 8 fully yet. I understand. Just know that I kept most of the heavy stuff implied, or sort of glossed over it. It ends happily). Dickson is amazing. Thank you for reviewing!

OnePirate96: Gunblade! That's what it was called! Oh, I feel dumb now:) Yeah, Dickson got the short end of the stick, didn't he? As for Fiora's score, let me just say that in the game, there's a small tidbit that says Fiora was considered for the Defense Force as well. I'll let that spark your imagination. Thank you for the review!

Glassdrop: I have no doubt I would've failed too. Let's fail together!:) Reyn does have his deep moments. I wish I could update more often, but school comes first. Thanks for the review!

little miss saigon: I was taking a risk doing the montage/stream of consciousness, but I'm glad it worked! Thanks for the review!

Xervail: No, no, it's okay. I like long reviews:) I'm glad you're having so many "my favorite" moments (speaking of which, I'm going to have so many "I'm glad" moments by the end of this, aren't I?). At some point, when we get further in, maybe I'll ask what everyone's top 5 are. I'm glad it's relatable. I felt like a weight had been lifted when I wrote that. I would probably be more of Shulk too, but I have also been in Reyn's spot before. I didn't even know about those heart-to-hearts, so thank you for telling me! When you wrote that Dickson had his own point on your list, I started laughing really hard. Of course Dickson gets his own bullet point. Ha! And you wrote a list for this? I feel warm and fuzzy at that. Oh! And I shall attempt to bring the detail! Some of these one-shots might still be short, but I try to make every word count. Thank you for reviewing!

Guest: I'm not sure what you're referring to.

SuperCalebX: I'm glad you laughed. I try varying the humor when the situation calls for it. And Egil x Shulk will so be a thing! Eventually... I have evil plans for those two. Thanks for the Follow and the review!

SubZeroChimera: Dickson is surprisingly easy and quite fun to write. I don't know what that says about me as a person, but yeah! :) Shulk and Egil interactions are the best interactions. Thank you so much for the Favorite and Follows. And thank you for the review!

MysteriousGreek2345: YAY! I'm corrupting people! Mwhahahaha! I'm rolling around so happy that you like the series so far. Don't worry, I have A LOT of prompts to go, so you'll have more:) Thanks for the review and the Favorites.

And thank you KittenMacha, P.T. Piranha, JustAReader240, theunspokenprophet, Button Masher Pot Smasher, and ColetteJH for the Favorites and/or Follows!

Enjoy!

* * *

978\. Kindergarten (Dunban, Dickson, and Mumkhar)

"Have you lost your mind?!" the screech echoed off the walls.

Dickson put a pinky in his ear in an attempt to stop the ringing. It didn't help. Sighing, he kicked his feet up on the principal's mahogany desk, crossed his legs at the ankles, and watched the exchange. He grinned at the irate woman, strands of brown curls coming out of her normally neat bun, hands placed on her hips as she glowered. "I don't think the people in Colony 6 quite heard that. Care to repeat it?"

The frazzled woman shot him a glare. "You be quiet!" she snapped, pale green eyes scorching. Dickson admired them for the brief second they met his. It was a pity glasses hid them, the light overhead bouncing off the lenses.

"Ms. Grayson, please."

Burning eyes returned to their original target. Ms. Grayson huffed, "Principal Wells, with all due respect, I have _every_ right to be concerned!"

"Be as that may-,"

"So you admit it!"

"Ms. Grayson!"

"Jeez, what's got your panties in a twist?" Dickson muttered, tipping back his chair so it stood on two legs.

"Excuse me?!" she hissed, shooting him another venomous glare. A slow smirk tugged one corner of his lips up; Dickson was amused. He could feel the lazy pump of blood in his veins pick up the slack; this was a fight he could enjoy. Wetting his bottom lip, Dickson answered the scowl with a challenging stare.

Green eyes faltered, no doubt catching the brief feral slip. Then they hardened.

"Principal Wells," she gritted out, never taking her eyes off what she perceived as the threat in the room. Smart woman. "I really don't think this _man,"_ it was spat out like a curse, "is qualified to substitute for kindergarteners."

"Aw, that hurts right here," Dickson whined, placing his hand over his heart dramatically.

"Good."

"You're a real piece of-,"

"Dickson!" the principal snapped.

Dickson rolled his eyes, and broke the staring contest first, turning towards the middle-aged man. He held his hands up defensively. "I was going to say 'work'."

Wells closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dickson mentally cheered. He was going to do shots when he got home. The count was how many times he could annoy someone. It was hardly 8 AM, and his shot count was currently well into the twenties. Not too shabby.

Getting wasted was definitely on his schedule.

He couldn't wait.

"Regardless," the principal said, "Dickson is a fine soldier of the Defense Force; he's the perfect candidate for watching your class for the field trip coming up." Wells paused uncomfortably, clearly sensing the female rage building. "He was also the only one available."

"Don't you feel the luck?" Dickson drawled. He didn't want to be stuck babysitting brats any more than Grayson wanted him to substitute. Nevertheless, it was endlessly amusing to see how many buttons he could press without getting maimed.

Grayson looked torn. She took a deep breath and let it out shakily. "I don't have to visit my mother just yet. I can wait a few days until someone better suited is found."

The principal's eyes softened; Dickson was going to hurl from the mush.

"Ms. Grayson, this arrangement is only for two days. You are one of the most hardworking individuals in the building, and I can tell your students adore you. But even the toughest person needs a break from time to time. Go visit your mother."

"But-"

Wells held up a hand. "If it makes you feel better, I'll check in on your class every once in a while."

"Alright…" the tone was highly reluctant.

"Don't I get a say in this?" Dickson asked, raising his hand mockingly.

"No!" they both barked in unison.

He slumped in his chair. "So much for democracy."

* * *

Something slammed onto the desk, startling Dickson awake. "Huh? Wha?"

"No sleeping on the job."

"The tykes don't even show up for another half-hour," he whined, "Have mercy, woman." He eyed the stack of files that so rudely interrupted his snooze. "What are those?"

"I've compiled profiles for every student in my class."

Dickson stared. "I suddenly understand why you need this vacation."

"Oh, shut up," Grayson huffed, "It's mainly for making sure you don't accidentally poison my students during snack time. Some of them are allergic to peanuts, so you'll have to make sure there are no mistakes from the cafeteria. Cindy and Josh have trouble tying their shoes. Caiden will need to go down to the nurse for his medication. This is-,"

"-Going in one ear and out the other." Dickson sifted through the files. One caught his attention. "What kind of name is 'Dunban'?"

The file was taken out of his hands and flipped open. Big brown eyes stared owlishly, lips curled in the beginnings of a smile; Dickson surmised this photo was taken by surprise. Tousled brown locks fell loosely around the kid's face, framing it.

He was going to be quite the looker when he grew up and lost all that baby fat; Dickson could tell.

"Dunban is the classroom sweetheart. He won't give you any trouble. In fact, he'll probably try to help."

"Great." Whatever took the load off his back was welcome to it.

Grayson closed the file and set it to the side. "One more thing before I leave."

"Hmm?" Dickson wasn't really listening.

The files were pushed to the side. Hands planted firmly on the desk, Grayson leaned forward and murmured, "If I find out about any incident involving my students, I will make your life hell."

Dickson clucked his tongue and wagged his finger. "A kindergarten teacher shouldn't curse. What if the kids pick it up?" he asked mockingly.

"I'm more worried what they'll catch from _you!_ "

"I'm clean as can be, sweet cheeks."

"That's not what I meant! And don't call me 'sweet cheeks'!"

"What are you going to do about it?" he drawled, leaning back in the chair. He watched in fascination as Grayson's pale eyes burned angrily, a hot flush on her cheeks. Then abruptly, they calmed, the raging inferno contained behind cool green glass.

She spoke slowly and clearly, "If my students have been corrupted in any way, shape, or form, _or_ if you call me 'sweet cheeks' again, I will disembowel you with a pair of knitting needles."

Once again, he found himself staring. "Is that even possible?"

Grayson smiled sweetly, tilting her head. "Would you like to find out?"

"You make a compelling argument."

"I thought so."

* * *

Several pairs of eyes stared at him, some curious, some bored, some confused. Dickson stared back warily.

Principal Wells cleared his throat. "Children, this is Dickson. He will be substituting for Ms. Grayson. I expect you _all,"_ he glanced pointedly at Dickson, "to be on your _best_ behavior."

"Yes, Principal Wells," the class chorused.

The principal raised a brow at him. Dickson rolled his eyes. The principal glared. Dickson sighed in exasperation, resisting the urge to throw up his hands.

"Yes, Principal Wells," he muttered.

The minute the older man turned his back, Dickson made a face, sticking out his tongue.

Some of the kids giggled.

He was the picture of innocence when the principal looked over his shoulder. It was Wells' turn to sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Best behavior," he repeated, walking out of the room.

 _Right…._ Dickson rolled his eyes again, using his hand to crack his neck.

There was a brief pause as adult and children eyed each other. Then a little girl with blonde pigtails raised her hand. "Do you like turtles, Mr. Dickson?"

 _What?_

Before he opened his mouth, before he even processed the random question, a boy cried out, "Turtles are stupid and slow."

"You're stupid and slow!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am _not_!"

"Are _too_!"

Another girl, brunette and freckly, leaned over to her friend. "What does substitute mean?"

Her friend replied sadly, "It means he's replacing her."

"Ms. Grayson isn't coming back?!" the brunette gasped, eyes welling up with tears.

"I don't think so, Amy."

"But I _like_ Ms. Grayson," Amy wailed.

From there, the whole room dissolved into chaos. Dickson's jaw slowly dropped. Normally, he thrived on chaos, especially if he was the one who started things. This time, he hadn't started anything and this chaos was headache-inducing.

A particularly loud sob made his shoulders tense, left eye twitching.

Through all the turmoil, he noticed the eye of the storm. Dunban sat quietly on the alphabetical carpet, calmly observing his classmates.

Wells burst through the door. "What is all the commotion?" he snapped, "Dickson!"

"For once, I didn't do it!" Dickson snapped back, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands.

"Then how do you explain this?!"

"Demonic four year olds!"

"You should know better-"

Dickson wasn't paying attention. He watched from the corner of his eye as Dunban crawled between his classmates, shushing them. In Amy's case, he stroked the girl's hair until she stopped crying hysterically and dwindled into sniffles.

Dickson started forward, wrenching his arm away when Wells made a grab for him, and crouched in front of them. He fished a handkerchief –more like a rag- out of his pocket, and deposited on the girl's lap. "Look kid," he started, and then raised his voice so everyone could hear him, "I ain't replacing your teacher, and I sure as heck don't want to either. Grayson can keep you lot."

"It's _Ms_. Grayson," Dunban corrected with narrowed eyes as Amy blew her nose loudly.

"Yeah, yeah," he waved the short stack off. He grimaced when Amy tried handing the rag back and shook his head. "Just throw it away."

"O-okay," she mumbled, scurrying off.

"Kid," Dickson prompted, turning to Dunban.

"My name is Dunban!" the boy flared.

Dickson didn't blink though his head tilted ever-so-slightly back. "What are you guys working on this week?"

"We're making scrapbooks," another boy piped up before Dunban could respond.

"It should be in the lesson plans on her desk," Dunban added, "Duh."

Dickson raised a brow, hearing a distinct snicker behind him. He stood up, towering over the kid. "Go find the lesson plan for me." There was a tiny frown on Dunban's face, but he complied. Dickson looked over the small crowd of kids. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

"Directions," Dunban's voice was muffled behind the desk.

Dickson twitched. "Yes, well, you all sit tight while I have a word with my _esteemed_ colleague," he said, dragging Wells out into the hall. He rounded on the older man. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

The principal failed miserably at hiding a grin. "Seeing you get snubbed by a four-year old? I don't know what you mean." He clapped the blonde on the shoulder heartily. "Cheer up, Dickson. I'm sure you'll find your place soon enough."

"In the ground six feet under," he muttered.

The classroom door clicked open. Dunban walked out, a piece of paper in his hand. He pushed it into Dickson's hands. "Here you go. It's not that long, so it shouldn't be hard to read." He smiled at the principal and waved. "Have a nice day, Principal Wells," he said before he went back into the classroom, shutting the door behind him.

Dickson stared. "Did he just help and insult me at the same time?"

Wells laughed. "Looks like you've found your match."

For once, he didn't respond.

 _Classroom sweetheart, my ass._

* * *

It wasn't even mid-day, and Dickson was ready to tear out his hair.

The brats were out to get him.

As soon as the principal left, angel halos were all but thrown off; devil horns were put on. Amy, despite his reassurance, still sniffled every now and again. One boy decided to paint on himself what a rainbow looked like in a puddle. The same boy had to go to the nurse to get his daily medication, and Dickson had gotten an earful about the dangers of paint ("Far be it from me to prevent creativity!" he'd retorted defensively). Another boy had to go to the bathroom hourly, claiming that his butt was sick and had to throw up. Meanwhile, Dunban and a couple others colored, talking amongst themselves.

Dickson was pretty sure the kid was orchestrating the entire rebellion. It was equally impressive as it was annoying. He was also sure Grayson had poised them against him beforehand. It wouldn't be surprising.

Someone knocked on the door; Dickson looked up as the Wells popped his head in, face grim. He crooked his fingers in a _come here now._ Dickson groaned in exaggeration, thumping his head on the desk before standing and heading for the door.

"What do you want?" he grumped.

The principal looked just as reluctant, but gestured behind him. "Dickson, I'd like to introduce you to-"

Dickson interrupted, "If it's another munchkin coming in late, I don't want it." He crossed his arms forcibly and scowled.

Wells took no notice and continued speaking. "-to our new student, Mumkhar."

"Where is he?"

Wells looked down, then behind. He spat a word that made Dickson actually glad for shutting the door behind him. He raised a brow. The principal had the decency to look embarrassed. "He's tried running away twice."

A second eyebrow joined its twin. "Are we running a prison now?"

"Dickson!" the older man snapped. "I have no patience for your antics at this moment. The boy is in no condition to-"

"Alright, alright," Dickson waved his hands dismissively. "Don't get your panties in a twist. I'll find the tyke and bring him back."

"You don't even know what he looks like!"

"I'll make an educated guess."

" _And_ you're supposed to be substituting!"

Dickson glanced through the door window. "I think you'll have more luck reining them in. Just be careful not to get caught in the glitter warfare."

Red gathered in the older man's face and his eyes narrowed to slits as he strode into the classroom purposely. Dickson snorted, hands shoved in his pant pockets. He strolled away, feeling smug and a bit vindicated.

He had a brat to catch.

* * *

Sunlight smoothed its calloused palm over his face as Dickson stepped out of the school building. A light breeze alleviated the heat for a brief, fleeting second. Sighing, he readjusted his bandana, and continued walking. He didn't need to look far.

At the gate, a tiny figure stood alone, a lost and confused air about him. Dickson approached silently.

The young boy wore a green winter coat that he must have been dying in and a dark blue backpack. His ratty dark hair was matted, and he clutched some sort of lump to his chest.

"Oi, kid!"

Small, petrified dark eyes flitted up, but oddly, the kid didn't make a break for it, only huddled closer to the bars of the gate. Dickson leaned on the wall next to it, and thought about how to approach this. Although the idea of throwing the kid over his shoulder, and carrying him back was appealing, the look he had gotten made him pause and reconsider. It wouldn't do if kid started screaming, and someone thought a kidnapping was happening.

Dickson slid down the wall until he sat on the ground, and patted his pockets for a cigarette. "You're not the only one who wants to go home." Eyes watched as he lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply in bliss. Dickson shook his head and whispered conspiratorially, "I don't blame you for wanting to run away."

The boy had yet to say anything, so Dickson settled back to watch a stray cloud passing overhead. Silence was a welcome change from the cacophony inside. "Name's Dickson," he offered lazily. "What's yours?" He didn't expect a response, and he didn't get one.

There was a pause.

"My dad smoked," a tiny voice shared.

"Hmm?" Dickson glanced over to see the boy looking at him shyly.

The boy nodded. "Yep, he'd do it all the time in the house. Mum didn't like it."

He grinned. "Did she make him quit?"

"No." A frown appeared on narrow features. Features that were a little _too_ gaunt…

"Did he quit all by himself?"

"No," the boy said again, turning away. "The monsters ate him before he could."

Cold washed into Dickson though he kept a calm exterior. "Where are you from?"

"Colony 1."

The same colony that had been crushed by the Mechon months ago; its people forced to migrate from colony to colony, searching for a new home. It looked like the kid's mother wasn't taking any chances, coming all the way down here instead of opting for Colony 2 or 3.

"Are you a soldier?" the kid was asking.

Dickson banished his current train of thought to focus on the present. "I am."

"Do you fight monsters?"

"I do." _Including demonic four year olds currently pelting arts and crafts at each other._

"Good." The kid nodded to himself.

"What's that you got there?" Dickson gestured to the lump he cradled. He was presented with a stuffed dog that had clearly seen better days. One button eye was dangling loosely, and fluff poked out of a tear in the cloth.

"Her name is Mindy."

"It's nice to meet you Mindy," he said solemnly, hand over his heart. The boy giggled. Dickson pointed an accusatory finger at him. "You never gave me your name."

"Mumkhar."

"Well, Mumkhar," Dickson said as he stood and brushed off his pants, "Are you ready to go to class?"

Just like that, the boy's expression shuttered, and he turned away. "I don't have friends here. They're all at home, but there is no home."

Dickson crushed his cigarette with the heel of his boot, and offered a hand. "Think of this place as a home away from home."

Mumkhar looked at the hand. Then, hesitantly, he took it.

* * *

Dunban wasn't in the best of moods. A frown marred his face as Principal Wells scolded them all for wasting art supplies. Their recess had been taken away as punishment, and it wasn't fair! Not everyone (including himself) threw stuff. Ms. Grayson would've understood that. The frown deepened. He missed Ms. Grayson, and resented Dickson for replacing her even temporarily.

"…very disappointed in you all," Principal Wells finished with flourish as the door opened. Everyone turned to look.

The blonde man sauntered in. "I found him."

The principal's eyes narrowed. "Why do you smell like C-I-G-A-R-E-T-T-E-S?"

"You stick me in a room of kids barely able to tie their shoes, and _not_ expect me to pop one?" Dickson snorted. "I don't know what world you live in."

The two adults started arguing, but Dunban couldn't care less; his gaze was fixed on the boy shifting uncomfortably beside Dickson. Principal Wells grabbed Dickson by the collar, and dragged him out of the classroom, the door clinking shut ominously.

If the new kid seemed uncomfortable, he looked wary now, shoulders hunched defensively. Dunban opened his mouth, but Amy beat him to it. "Why are you wearing a coat? It's hot!"

The boy scowled. "None of your business," he muttered. He took in Amy's red eyes and asked, "Why are you crying, you baby?"

Amy wilted, lower lip wobbling.

Dunban got to his feet and crossed his arms. "Don't be so mean!"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

The boy mirrored his pose, which strangely annoyed Dunban. He was usually of "very calm temperament" Ms. Grayson had said once. He still didn't know what 'temperament' meant, but the boy in front of him definitely had a temper. And he was a copycat!

He opened his mouth to give the newcomer a stern talking to, but Dickson slammed the door back open, looking frazzled and angry. "All of you get back to work!" he barked. Everyone scrambled back to their seats, crayons scratching against paper. The new boy looked around, lost. "Mumkhar," Dickson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He put a hand on this 'Mumkhar's' shoulder, and steered him around the tables.

Heading straight for Dunban's table. Dunban tried to think of a reason why the chair next to him couldn't be used, but it was too late, and Mumkhar was plopped into the chair. "You can sit next to Dunban," Dickson said. "Apparently he's the classroom 'sweetheart' or so I've been told." Dunban narrowed his eyes at the blonde man, heat flushing into his cheeks when Mumkhar snorted.

"You all are coloring for the rest of the day," Dickson announced, collapsing into the teacher's seat.

"Are you okay, Mr. Dickson?" Amy ventured.

Their substitute teacher looked up tiredly. "I just want to go home," he grumbled, fingers drumming on the desk.

"Don't you like us?" her voice became small. Dickson only groaned, and buried his face back in arms.

"It's because he has to fight monsters all the time, stupid!" Mumkhar cut in. "Of course he's tired!"

The classroom swelled with voices, each one trying to talk over the others.

"You fight monsters?!"

"That's so cool!"

"What's the biggest monster you've taken down, Mr. Dickson?"

"Alright, alright!" Dickson held out his hands defensively. "Tell you what, I'll tell stories after you do whatever it is Grayson-" (" _Ms_. Grayson!" Dunban snapped. His outburst was ignored.) "-wanted you to do. Deal?"

"Deal!" the rest of the class chorused.

* * *

His crayon broke.

Dunban cast his eyes around searchingly. Spotting a yellow crayon, he reached over, but it was snatched away. Frowning, he briefly locked eyes with Mumkhar before the other turned away to use the crayon. Dunban waited patiently. After a moment, Mumkhar set the crayon down on his other side, and reached for another. "May I use the yellow?" he asked politely. Mum always said being polite would go a long way rather than simply demanding.

"I'm using it," Mumkhar replied, reaching for the green.

Brown eyes narrowed. "No, you're not!"

"Yes I am."

"Nuh uh!"

"Uh huh!"

" _Nuh uh!"_ Dunban reached for the crayon.

" _Uh huh!"_ Mumkhar shoved his hand away, and held the crayon out of reach.

A shadow loomed over them both before they could finish their battle of wills. The yellow was plucked out of Mumkhar's grip. "Mine now," Dickson stated, tucking the crayon into his pocket.

"But sharing is caring!" Dunban protested.

Dickson snorted. "Depends on what it is." He gave them the stink eye. "Do me and your classmates a favor, and quit yakking."

Mumkhar shot Dickson a betrayed look.

"You're mean," Dunban said without thinking.

The class went silent. But Dickson didn't start yelling, only raised a brow. "Yeah, kid, that's the burden I carry." He ruffled their hair. "Now," he said, looking around the room, "who wants to hear how I took on a horde of giant spiders?"

* * *

"You're a natural storyteller."

Dickson groaned; it was after hours, why couldn't he be left in peace? "Please tell me you've come here to give back my cigarettes."

"Nope!" Wells was annoyingly cheerful. "They're staying in my desk until tomorrow afternoon."

He let his head thump on the desk. "I hate kids," he muttered. "Let the stars be good, and never bestow one on me."

"I think you did pretty well for a first time substitute."

"Never again."

"You-"

"Nope!"

"I-"

"Not listening!"

"Dickson-"

"I refuse!"

"…you made up the story about the spiders, didn't you?"

Dickson barked a short laugh with little humor. _You have no idea, little man._

* * *

Dunban was cross. He'd woken on the wrong side of the bed. The last of his favorite cereal had been eaten by his dad. When Dunban complained and whined, his mother had said in a singsong voice, "Looks like someone is C-R-A-B-B-Y today."

"I don't have crabs!" he'd snapped.

His dad had chortled. "I'd certainly hope not." The response baffled Dunban, but it had earned his father a slap on the arm from his mum.

He was in a somewhat better mood now. He traversed the halls to his classroom, trying to step only on the colored tiles that alternated on the floor. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad. The field trip to Cliff Lake was something he'd been looking forward to for a long time. Yes, he thought nodding. Nothing would ruin today.

He pushed open the door to his classroom.

Most of the kids were already sitting on the alphabetical carpet. Dickson was looking out the window, frowning. As he approached his usual place, Dunban froze. Scowling, he stomped over to the boy in his spot. "Mumkhar, get off my D!"

Dickson choked.

"I can sit on the D if I want to!"

Dunban stomped his foot. "No, you can't. It doesn't fit you!"

"What do you mean it doesn't 'fit'?!"

They were both distracted by a bang. They stared as Dickson roared with laughter, belly heaving, tears streaming from his eyes. His palm thumped the teacher's desk in a futile attempt to regain control, but it was a lost cause. "I. Take it. Back," he wheezed. "This job. Worth it. So worth it."

The class stared in wonder.

"I think we broke him," someone whispered.

Their substitute finally subsided into snickers. "On _that_ note, let's get going. I ain't getting any younger."

"You're like a fossil," Dunban muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

* * *

Dickson squinted at the lesson plan. _Jeez, Grayson, could your cursive be any smaller?_

The kids were getting antsy, he could tell that much. It was a beautiful day. The sun reflected off the lake invitingly. Rocky ledges rose to the sky, standing guard over the valley. What troublesome wind managed to sneak past made the long stalks of grass whistle and sing.

 _Meh_ , he thought, throwing the paper over his shoulder.

He'd wing it.

"Bring back three pieces of nature you can put in your scrapbook. It can be anything. Go crazy." He waved his hand dismissively. "Shoo."

Everyone practically sprinted away.

Dickson wandered over to the shade of a tree, and plopped down, rolling onto his back. There were patches of sunlight that broke through the shade. Reaching a hand up, he closed his hand, blocking out one such patch. But there were too many to catch, and Dickson let his arm flop back down listlessly. A lazy day like this reminded him of simpler days.

Simpler days brought back simple nostalgia, and he breathed deeply, reconstructing his original home in his mind's eye. It was such a comforting exercise that he never noticed his lids drooping and his breaths deepening.

* * *

"That's such a pretty leaf, Mumkhar!" Amy cooed.

Mumkhar grumbled inaudibly in reply.

Dunban looked up from his search for buried treasure and snickered. "It looks like a toilet."

"Says _you!"_ Mumkhar snapped, clutching the leaf closer. He peered imperiously at Dunban's empty hands and scoffed. "At least I'm doing the assignment."

Dunban scowled, crossing his arms. "I want the best, nothing less."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"You-"

" _Stop_ _fighting_!" Amy cried, hands tugging on her pigtails anxiously. "If you don't, I'll tell Mr. Dickson on you!"

Their mouths snapped shut though they still glowered at each other silently.

"I already know where to get the best treasure anyway," Dunban boasted.

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not."

"Prove it, then," Mumkhar said, crossing his arms.

"Follow me. My dad showed me this cool place one time."

* * *

"I don't know about this," Amy said doubtfully, staring into the mouth of the cave.

"It's perfectly safe. My dad says so, and he's a Defense Force soldier. That means he knows everything," Dunban replied, inching closer.

"Well go on then," Mumkhar said impatiently. "Go get that treasure!"

Dunban started forward confidently. He was two steps into the cave when something cold landed on his neck. Gasping, he slapped a hand over it, turning in a panicked circle. It took him a moment to realize it was only water dripping from the roof of the cave.

Heat sprang to his cheeks as he heard Mumkhar bust a gut laughing. "Scared of a little water?" he teased.

"I'd like to see you do better!" Dunban snapped, hands clenching into fists.

"Oh please…" Mumkhar rolled his eyes, but Dunban had caught the flicker of fear in muddy brown eyes.

"What are you, scared?" Dunban tossed the words right back.

"Of course not!"

"Then prove it!"

Mumkhar stormed into the cave until he was a pace further in than Dunban. "See?" he said, crossing his arms. "Nothing to it."

Dunban walked until he was a little further in than Mumkhar. "Doesn't seem like much," he drawled.

"Fine!" Mumkhar threw his hands into the air. "I'll go with you to find that so-called treasure. You'll need as much protection as possible."

"If anything, _I'll_ be protecting _you!"_

"As if!"

"Guys, I _really_ don't think this is a good idea. We could get in trouble," Amy said, chewing the ends of her pigtails.

"He never said we _couldn't_ go here," Dunban tried reassuring her. When she still looked uncertain, he added, "You can keep watch."

"O-okay."

"C'mon, Mumkhar!" Dunban chirped, linking arms with the other boy and dragging him. "We gotta go find treasure!"

"Quit dragging me!"

Their arguing voices faded into echoing whispers that mixed with the ghostly wail the cave emitted all on its own. Amy shivered, and backed away. A drop landed on her head, startling her badly, and her head snapped toward the sky.

Dark gray clouds were rolling in overhead.

* * *

The sound of thunder shocked him awake.

Dickson shot up; his eyes were wild as they darted to and fro. There wasn't immediate monster danger, so he relaxed ever-so-slightly. The rain torrent was a problem; his sleepy mind tried telling him. The second clap of thunder motivated him into action.

He sprang up. Most of the kids had gathered under the trees where Dickson had been snoozing. Trees equaled bad shelter, especially with thunder and lightning. They wouldn't be staying out here. He gestured the kids over, and they scurried like frightened mice.

" _Class!_ " he bellowed for the benefit of the stragglers. "Get your rumps over here now!"

The rest of the kids swarmed around him. Dickson attempted a head count, but the heavy curtain of rain didn't let him get far.

Someone took his hand. He looked down into Amy's pale face. Her lower lip trembled, and she mumbled something he couldn't hear over the thunder. She shook like a leaf in the wind, and it struck Dickson how _fragile_ these brats were.

He closed his hand over hers, and squeezed reassuringly.

"Let's move!"

* * *

"So what exactly are we looking for?" Mumkhar asked to break the silence. The dark was getting to him; red eyes and mechanical monsters were going to pop out any moment. He shuddered, partly from the cold, dank air, and partly from fear. Picking up the pace, he resisted the urge to grab the back of the other boy's shirt to hold onto something attached to someone _warm_ and _alive._ Dunban's voice floated back, sounding small in the cave's gigantic mouth.

"Treasure, duh."

"Yeah, but what _kind_ of treasure?"

"Hmm…" Dunban abruptly stopped to think, causing Mumkhar to bump into him.

"Watch it-" Mumkhar began, snarling.

"I guess it could be anything," Dunban talked over him.

"So you don't have anything in mind?" he asked in disbelief.

Dunban shrugged. "My dad says treasure can be anything important to you. He always gives Mum this gross kiss after he says it too."

Mumkhar wrinkled his nose. "Gross," he agreed. There was a brief pause, which let his thoughts bounce around. What was important to him?

The cracked rough floor gave way to a sandy shore as the tunnel opened into a wide and domed area. Mumkhar guessed they were in the belly of the monster. He paused, hesitant to go further.

"What's wrong?" Dunban asked, looking back once he realized Mumkhar wasn't following.

Mumkhar bit his lower lip. "Nothing," he muttered, fiddling with his shirt.

"You look funny; are you sad?"

"No!"

"Are you scared?"

Mumkhar let his glare do the talking.

Dunban stared back, refusing to look away first. "Well?"

He looked down, lips twisting. Quietly, so very quietly, he whispered, "It's dark." He wasn't afraid, he wasn't _afraid._

A hand grabbed his. "We can hold hands so we don't get lost," Dunban said seriously. He brightened. "Now let's go find treasure! I bet it's around here somewhere!" He dragged Mumkhar forward.

Mumkhar didn't protest. Instead, he held Dunban's hand tighter.

* * *

Dickson breathed a sigh of relief as he ushered his kids back into the classroom. He got towels from the closet, and passed them out, keeping one for himself. The naptime mats had been set out while they were gone. Dickson eyed the clock. Only forty more minutes of this, then he was home free.

He was drying his hair when he felt a tug on his sleeve. Amy looked up at him from beneath her bangs, eyes red-rimmed, and her towel dragged on the floor. Throwing his towel around his neck, Dickson reached for Amy's, and began drying her hair. "What's wrong?" he asked, surprising himself with the gentle tone. Amy opened her mouth, but only a squeak made it through as a lightning hit the ground right outside the window, followed by the loudest clap of thunder yet. "Is it the storm?"

Amy shook her head. "Dunban and Mumkhar," she mumbled.

Dickson narrowed his eyes, an odd feeling building in his gut. Turning his head sharply, he raked his eyes over the room, doing a mental head count.

Thirteen kids. Two missing.

He'd been wondering why things were so quiet.

"Amy," he said urgently. "Do you know where they are?"

The girl burst into tears.

There was no time. Dickson felt the minutes pick up the pace where they had been sluggish before. The clock ticked every second. His eye twitched.

He didn't want to be disemboweled by a pair of knitting needles.

Kneeling in front of her, Dickson placed both hands on her shoulders. He didn't yell, but kept his voice soft and firm. "Do you know where they are?"

Hiccuping, she nodded. "We wanted to find treasure, and Dunban said he knew where the best stuff was. He took me and Mumkhar to a cave."

The odd feeling turned icy. He exhaled to keep his composure; he had to make sure.

"Was this cave north?"

Amy gave him lost eyes. Dickson bit the inside of his cheek from impatience. Metallic filled his mouth. "Was the cave on the far side of the valley?" he clarified.

She nodded.

Damn it, damn it, _damn it!_

Shooting to his feet, he sprinted from the room. He passed Principal Wells in the hallway.

"Dickson, what on Bionis-?"

"Watch them!" he snarled, making sure his gunblade was strapped securely to his back.

"Where are you going?!"

"Hunting!"

* * *

"Look!" Dunban pointed with his free hand excitedly.

Mumkhar squinted. "What is it?"

"A stick!"

"A stick in a cave?" he asked doubtfully. They wandered closer. The stick in question was half-hidden by a couple of rocks, and embedded deep in the sand. It was dark brown with rings of yellow. "What kind of stick is it?"

"Probably a magic stick. I bet you could do lots of things with it."

Mumkhar poked it. It didn't feel like a stick.

"Let's pull it out." Dunban started tugging his hand away. Mumkhar held on tighter.

" _You_ said we'd get lost if we didn't hold hands!"

"It'll only be a second."

Mumkhar shook his head furiously.

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Dunban asked angrily. "You just don't want me to have it for my scrapbook!"

"Nuh uh!"

"Uh huh!"

" _No, I don't_!" Mumkhar finally screamed. "I don't want your stupid stick; I don't want to _be_ here; I want to _go home_!" He burst into tears.

Dunban stared wide-eyed. For a long time, Mumkhar's sobs were the only noise in the empty and uninviting cave. And despite being angry and frustrated, Mumkhar didn't let go of Dunban's hand.

"Stop staring at me!" he snapped/hiccuped.

Dunban hugged him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Please don't be sad."

Mumkhar only cried harder. Dunban patted his head.

"We can share the stick," he offered brightly. "Then we can both have the _bestest_ scrapbooks ever."

He could only nod mutely, tears quieting into sniffles.

Dunban continued, seeing that his words had effect, "Let's pull it out together!"

They each grabbed the stick with their free hands. Mumkhar adjusted his grip. "On three?" he whispered. Dunban nodded.

"One… two…"

The stick pulled itself from the ground, and other sticks popped from the sand to join it. Mumkhar looked, in dawning horror, up the leg he and Dunban were holding into yellow and orange eyes. Multiple eyes, four yellow, four orange.

Dunban screamed, and let go of the leg and Mumkhar's hand, scrambling backwards. Mumkhar was stuck in place; mouth opened slightly, eyes petrified, staring at the menacing pincers. It was… this was…

"Monster," he mumbled. His knees shook along with his breathing. "Monster, monster, monster…" _Metal bodies, sharp claws, pinching, peeling,_ hurting _…._ He watched, transfixed on one of the pincers rising in slow motion.

The hood of his coat was grabbed, and he was yanked backwards. He fell on his back with an "Oomph!"

" _C'mon_!" Dunban was screaming. It pierced through the fog in his mind. "Run!"

Mumkhar scrambled to his feet.

They ran.

* * *

This was bad. This was _really_ bad.

Rain pounded his head and shoulders, soaking his bandana and causing it to slip down his face. Dickson angrily ripped it off, and shoved it in his pocket. A knot was tightening in his chest that only had so much to do with heaving lungs and pumping limbs.

Snarling, he shoved the… the… _feeling_ into a mental box that he hurled into the deep recesses of his mind. Succumbing to it was for the weak.

 _Like those two boys you forgot about…_ his subconscious whispered.

Dickson gritted his teeth, letting his anger and frustrations fuel his speed.

Out of all the places the brats could squeeze into, _why_ did they pick the north cave?

The most trouble he'd been expecting today was Antols, but there had been no sign of them. They probably knew the storm was coming, and decided to stay indoors.

Their nest was in that north cave.

Their leader was the real threat. Remaining alive and enduring the multiple raids in its nest, it had grown into a Roguish Frengel.

Dunban and Mumkhar were in that pissed off Frengel's nest. His eyelid twitched.

When he got the two of them to safety, Dickson was going to ring their necks. Screw time outs.

Twin screams of terror propelled him even faster, and he unstrapped his gunblade in one fluid motion.

* * *

Mumkhar ran as fast as he could, but he still heard clacking of pincers and the scuttle of eight pointy legs right behind. His breathing wheezed in and out, one sob after another. Then the worst thing happened.

He tripped.

Crying out as his knee scraped against rough rock, Mumkhar tried crawling forward. A shadow fell over him, and he looked his shoulder into multiple eyes. He froze, trembling.

One pincer rose. He threw his arms up to protect his head.

The monster clicked furiously as a rock hit it in the face.

"Move!" Dunban cried out, throwing another rock. A pincer blocked it.

Mumkhar clambered to his feet, ignoring his small injury, and hurled himself clear. As he ran past Dunban, he grabbed the other boy's hand, and dragged him away.

The walls of the tunnel flew by as they ran.

Then they reached the entrance.

* * *

Through the scope of his gun, Dickson spotted two little figures burst from the cave entrance like demons were on their tail.

…That wasn't too far from the truth actually.

Antols didn't like the rain.

Their leader was clearly the exception. …Or it was too pissed to care.

It slid from the cave, big and brown and ugly as hell.

"Dunban! Mumkhar! Get down!" he roared as he fired. His bullet clipped off the body. It hissed angrily, looking around for its attacker. Dickson didn't give it a chance.

He tackled it.

Not the smartest move some people would say. Others would call it downright suicidal.

Dickson didn't care what other people thought.

He drove his elbows, feet, and fists anywhere he could reach. The pointy tip of a leg scratched his cheek. If he hadn't twisted his head away in time, that same leg would've impaled him. The Frengel managed to roll them, so it was on top. It raised its pincers for a killing blow-

-And exposed its weak underbelly in the process.

Dickson smirked.

 _Bingo._

He raised his gun, and fired until the damned thing fell dead.

On top of him.

Well, it could be worse. Breathing was overrated anyway.

* * *

"Whoa," Mumkhar murmured, watching Dickson push up, and retract his gun from the monster. "He's so strong!"

The blonde man turned, red dripping down his cheek, and started heading in their direction. The anger and the wildness in his eyes made Mumkhar shy away, gripping Dunban's arm reflexively. Dickson would attack them now, he thought fearfully, stepping behind his classmate. Dunban shot him a concerned glance, lips tugging into a frown. Concern gave way to understanding, then determination.

Dunban stepped forward. "I'm sorry, Dickson. This was all my fau-."

Heavy hands fell on their shoulders. "Are you hurt?" Dickson asked gruffly, giving each of them a once over.

Numbly, they shook their heads. Dickson released a small sigh, the tension in his stance relaxing; he returned to the man that had sat with him at the gate yesterday, and Mumkhar was relieved.

"Great," Dickson said, giving them a push. "Let's get moving."

"But you're bleeding," Dunban exclaimed, twisting away.

"Just a scratch, kid."

"But-"

" _Move_!"

They moved.

* * *

"I really misjudged you, Dickson," Ms. Grayson murmured, eyes roving the napping students.

Dickson shrugged, sitting cross-legged on the carpet. "S'okay." He was so tired, and sweat made his shirt cling to his back uncomfortably. He had just barely, _barely_ beaten the clock. The moment they burst through the door, Dickson had shoved Dunban and Mumkhar in the direction of a sleeping mat in the corner, and ordered them to close their eyes and shut their traps.

"But we don't have traps," Dunban had protested. Luckily, Mumkhar had read the tension in Dickson, saw that he wasn't amused, and had promptly dragged Dunban away.

Smart kid. Dickson would slip him a second cookie when they "woke up" for snack time.

"It's not okay," Ms. Grayson argued, "You did as well as any substitute teacher if not better; the children love you."

"Meh," Dickson grumbled. He should've been soaking up the praise like he was prone to do, but all he wanted to do at that moment was to grab a cigarette and nap like his life depended on it. Kids were _draining_. Who knew?

"I'm sorry."

His head snapped up. "What?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated, looking off to the side, "I was wrong about you."

From what he could see of her profile, a rosy flush crept up her neck to her cheeks. This was a woman who never failed to rise up and challenge him, pointing out his flaws at every turn. Yet here she was now, eyes locked to the floor, uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot. Dickson should've been rejoicing for making his enemy crumble and admit defeat.

There were a lot of things he should've been doing.

Instead, he leaned back on his hands, and stared out of the far window. The heavy gray clouds were receding, the sun playing peek-a-boo through the openings.

 _Once,_ he told himself, _just this once._

"I'm sorry too," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, "I know I haven't made things the easiest for you." His head rolled back, and caught her eyes staring at him in disbelief and a flash of something unreadable. "Truce?" he offered.

"Truce," she agreed. Ms. Grayson held out her hand, expression wry. "I think we got off on the wrong foot."

Dickson snorted, "That's the understatement of the century." He took her hand for a firm shake, none of that hand kissing crap. "Dickson."

"Sofia," she said warmly.

The dim classroom lit up as shafts of sunlight shot through, bouncing off the walls. Sofia's face was caught in the glow, features soft and highlighted. There were gold flecks in those hidden green eyes that he'd never noticed before. He was also achingly aware of her warm, firm hand.

Dickson swallowed dryly.

He _wanted_.

But this was neither the place, nor the time. He decided to take a page out of Dunban's book.

"We should sweeten this truce," he mused, grinning widely.

Sofia's warm look switched one of wariness. "Which would involve-?"

Dickson looked through the hole in his crossed legs to make sure he was sitting on the correct letter. Yep.

He slowly looked back up, and snickered, "How would you like to seal the deal by sharing my D?"

A pencil to the forehead answered his question.

* * *

Dunban observed the two adults contemplatively. He reached behind him to nudge Mumkhar. The other boy didn't respond, only snorted and moved away. "Mumkhar!" Dunban whispered, rolling over and grasping his arm urgently, "I gotta tell you something."

"Can't it wait until after naptime?"

"No! It's really important. Please?"

Mumkhar rolled over so they were each lying on their sides facing one another. He scratched his cheek, yawning as his elbow cushioned his head. "What is it?"

Brown eyes stared soulfully into their muddier counterpart. Dunban spoke slowly as if pronouncing a solemn prophecy, "We can share my D."

Mumkhar's eyes narrowed, flitting up to look past Dunban's shoulder. There was a brief pause that felt like millions of years to Dunban. He shifted impatiently before demanding, "Well?"

The other boy finally looked at him again, the beginnings of a smile on his face. "Can I throw stuff at you too?"

Dunban couldn't resist looking. Ms. Grayson was silently and steadily chucking the pens on her desk at Dickson who had his arms raised protectively, grinning ear-to-ear. He mouthed mystery words that made her flush deep red, eyebrow twitching.

Dunban turned back. "Can we skip that part?"

Mumkhar shook his head.

"Please?"

"…"

"Pretty please?"

"…"

"I'll give you half of my chocolate chip cookie during snack time."

"I don't want your cookies."

"I'll push you on the swing."

"I don't want that either."

"Then what _do_ you want?" Dunban asked, frustrated. Why did Mumkhar have to be so contrary all the time? Why couldn't he just agree?

"I want a promise."

His anger drained out, replaced by interest. "What sort of promise?"

"A pinky promise."

Dunban's interest spiked. Pinky promises were sacred promises; only close friends used those. He smiled.

He had a new friend now.

"Okay, what do you want to promise?" he asked.

Mumkhar fell silent, eyes dropping. He fiddled with their shared sleeping mat, making finger indentations and watching them inflate again. Taking a deep breath, he mumbled something under his breath.

"What?" Dunban leaned in closer.

Mumkhar sniffled, taking Dunban by surprise. "If we're friends now, you have to promise you won't leave," his voice was breathy and barely audible, yet carried an intense undertone. "If you do, I won't forgive you." He could feel the other boy's stare. Mumkhar shut his eyes, squeezing his hands into fists and crossed his arms. Face heating up, he withdrew into himself and shrunk into the mat.

What a stupid thing to ask for. Dunban wouldn't want to be his friend. They argued too much, and Dunban probably hated him. He…

A hand tugged on his arm. "How am I supposed to pinky promise if you don't give me your hand?"

His eyes flew open. "You'll do it?" Mumkhar asked in disbelief.

Dunban's brown eyes were confused, "Of course I will! We're friends." He held out his pinky finger. As Mumkhar stared at him, lips parted, Dunban was suddenly unsure. "We _are_ friends, aren't we?"

Mumkhar's own pinky shot out, and wrapped around the offered finger before it was taken away. The lump in his throat wouldn't let him speak, so he nodded his head.

Dunban's smile lit up the room.

"I promise."


	11. Chapter 11

Hello lovelies. I'm quite surprised as to where this one ended up, but I'm still pleased with it. I got a little teary in some parts. There's a little bit of explicit imagery for a "death" which you'll see. Read or skim; whatever makes you comfortable:)

Note: This is connected to Plastic (chapter 4). See if you can find the scene;)

OnePirateWolf96: Yay! I like making people smile (because it makes me smile). Yep, Dickson can totally be a grizzly/teddy bear combo. Thanks for the Favorite and the review!

Glassdrop: Thank you! I feel like I didn't do a four year old's perspective any justice, but it's relieving that you still liked it. And I plan to experiment more with battle scenes in the future. I think I found a workable time management for school and fun, so hopefully updates won't take TOO long. Thanks for reviewing!

Guest: To answer your question, I do have prompts for Zanza, Meyneth, and/or Lorithia. However, I write these prompts in whatever order I feel inspired by. So it's really just up to my muse/mood at the time. *shrugs* Thanks for reviewing!

TheMysteriousGeek2345: They are adorable at any age (exception being when Mumkhar goes off the deep end:)). Dickson IS a hoot, and I'm glad you liked it. Thank you for reviewing!

Xervail: I now have this mental image of the one-shots stealing cake from each other:) Ha! Everyone should just take a page from Dickson's Life Lessons: who needs breathing anyway? - chapter 1. The route I took with Mumkhar followed this logic: nobody is born evil/bad. Kid Mumkhar and Adult Mumkhar aren't of the same mindset because of their different ages. That being said, I still tried tying in some things that still make Mumkhar himself. He can be a little shit (crayon incident), and you may not have noticed the first time, but Mumkhar didn't make any return promises to Dunban at the end; it was completely one-sided. Mumkhar and Dunban are very interesting foils to each other, and you can see it change over the game. At the beginning when the Defense Force is ordered to retreat, Mumkhar is cautious and wants to follow the rules while Dunban is reckless and wants to keep fighting because he thinks he's invincible with the Monado. Fast forward in the game, you have them switch roles. Mumkhar is reckless and goes behind Egil's back to attack the party (because he thinks he's invincible in his new body) while Dunban displays more caution and wisdom. So I based kid Mumkhar and Dunban to what they were like at the beginning of the game. Well, this was a rant, wasn't it? Hehe. Thank you so much for reviewing!

And thank you Totodile exe, TheSuperSmashingWolf, and SilverPhoenixFlame for the Favorites and/or Follows!

Enjoy!

* * *

3\. Strawberries (Fiora)

When Fiora was three years old, her mother told her of a special place. Like a ghost, she came in the middle of the night, clad in a long, flowy white dress that whispered around her ankles as she stepped weightlessly across the creaky floor. Her willowy figure leaned over the sleeping form of her daughter, gently rousing her awake. Fiora complied with being dressed in her play clothes, too sleepy to argue or throw a tantrum. And when her mother opened her arms in invitation, Fiora didn't hesitate.

Crickets sang their nightly chorus, erratic voices rising and falling. The stars remained a cold and bright audience. No light was on in any of the buildings they passed. The whole town was asleep minus them, the only other sound being the scuffing of her mother's feet on the stone road.

"Mama, where we going?" Fiora mumbled into the crook of her mother's neck.

"It's a surprise," her mother answered, a smile in her voice.

"I like surprises."

"I know you do, sweetheart." Her mother shifted her into a more secure hold, and freed one hand to stroke her hair. "Sleep. We'll be there soon."

"M'not tired," Fiora grumped, closing her eyes and snuggling closer.

Despite her protests, she quickly succumbed, rocked to sleep by her mother's breathing and her scented shampoo.

She was shaken awake after what felt like two minutes. "What?" she said with just a hint of a whine.

Her mother set her on her feet, and took her hand. "Look."

Fiora squinted. It was still relatively dark outside, but she could still make out the crack in the side of a cliff. It looked like the mouth of a monster. She shied away. "Mama?" she asked uncertainly, clutching her mother's hand with both of her own.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Just stay close to me."

They entered into the abyss. At first, everything was pitch black. Fiora was too wary to be impressed by her mother's navigation. Then, slowly, everything became lighter. The sun wasn't out; they were still in the tunnel, but the walls were glowing green.

"Ether," her mother explained without looking at her. "The building block of all living things. You're made of ether, and I am made of ether."

"Is the cave alive, Mama?" she asked, looking around in wonder.

"Everything is alive, Fiora, if you know where to look." She tugged her daughter along. "Come see."

The tunnel ended. Sandy floor gave way to long flowy grass that came up to her chest. Smooth rock walls encircled a tiny meadow. The exposed stars above were slowly vanishing behind the crawling purple and pinks. The coming dawn exposed the vines growing along the rock walls, reaching up and over the top.

They walked in further. Fiora ran ahead, seeing a tall flower retreat back into its bud. "Mama! Mama! Didja see? Didja see?" she asked excitedly. She poked the bud. "Why did it go away?"

Her mother knelt down beside her. "It's a shy flower; it only comes out under the cover of night."

"Oh, does it have friends it can talk to?"

"Yes, it has its entire family here, so it's not lonely." She sat down, and nudged Fiora, pointing to a place somewhere over her shoulder. "What's that over there?"

Fiora looked. "It's a bush."

"Go see what's on it."

Fiora went over dutifully. She looked carefully. It was still just a bush. She glanced at Mama uncertainly. Her mother waved her hand, gesturing for her to get lower. Fiora got on her hands and knees, and crawled closer until she was practically in the bush. She looked.

And saw.

There on the multiple little branches hung little red strawberries, ripe for the taking. Squealing happily, she snagged a few, and raced to show Mama. "Look, look what I found!"

Her mother smiled, and plucked one away, chewing it. Her eyes closed in bliss. "Just like I remember."

Fiora, busy stuffing her face, paused. "Have you been here before?" she asked, voice muffled. Juice ran down her chin. Her mother wiped it away.

"Since I was a little girl like you."

"I can't wait to tell Dundun!" Fiora said gleefully.

Her mother paused, and then murmured, "I would prefer to keep this place a secret."

"What's a secret?"

"Something not meant for other people to know; this place is a secret."

"Why can't Dundun know?"

"Maybe next time. For now," she said, poking her daughter's forehead, "This will be our little secret, alright?"

"Okay," Fiora agreed.

They spent the morning picking berries with Fiora alternatively storing them in her belly. Soon, the basket was full, and Fiora looked at it mournfully. "I wish we could take back more."

Her mother took off her sun hat, and placed it on Fiora's lap. "There is always a way," she said softly. Reaching over to the nearest bush, she plucked off a few, and dropped them into the hat.

Fiora's resulting grin felt too big for her face.

* * *

When Fiora was six years old, she awoke one day in her older brother's arms. It was early in the morning, the sky pale pink like how milk got after leaving cereal to soak in it. Her brother was running, chest heaving, and jostling her with each step. Blearily, she rubbed her eyes with a fist.

"Dundun, where we going?" she mumbled, not bothering to lift her head from his shoulder.

He looked down at her with surprise. "Fiora! You're awake!" His grip tightened, and Fiora let out a displeased noise. She wasn't going anywhere; she was quite comfortable, so there was no need to squish her.

Luckily, Dunban got the message, and loosened his grip slightly. "Sorry, Fiora," he huffed, never slowing down. "We… we're going on an adventure for a few days, alright? Isn't that exciting?"

Their eyes met briefly. Dunban's brows were furrowed, sweat running down his forehead, and though she was still sleepy, green eyes caught the grave worry in brown eyes.

"What's wrong, Dundun?" she asked just a loud screech ripped through the stillness. It was followed by a Homs scream, abruptly choked off. Fiora's head snapped up; all too suddenly aware of the clicking and clacking noises, and dark shapes in the sky. "Dunban?" she asked fearfully, throat clogging as another Homs scream split the air. It was childlike, and it too was silenced mid-scream. "Dunban!"

Her older brother somehow managed to free a hand to push her head back into the comforting darkness of his shoulder.

"Don't look Fiora. Whatever you do, please, just don't look."

His hand left her head, and travelled down to her back to rub jerky, yet soothing circles as she hiccuped, and tried to not to hear anything. It was hard work. Her fingers grabbed fistfuls of Dunban's shirt, twisting harder and harder each time there was a loud crash.

"Almost there, almost there," her brother murmured breathlessly. She was shifted into a more secure hold. "Almost there, almost there. Almost home free."

Home.

Fiora wanted to go home. She wanted to run up the creaky stairs, and curl up under her covers to hide from the world. She wanted to hear the crinkling of glossy cookbook pages, and wrinkle her nose at the questionable smells Dunban concocted when he cooked stew. She wanted to line her back up against the wooden frame of the front door, and stretch on her tiptoes to beat the black line marking Dunban's height at her age. She wanted to walk back into her house, and see a willowy figure with flowing brown hair and gentle green eyes leaning on the counter while reading. She wanted to run up to that figure, and be embraced; wanted there to be no screaming, no crashing, no banging, no _nothing_.

She wanted to demand to be taken to their secret place, filled with gigantic bushes and delicious strawberries and impatient vines; she wanted her mother to wear that pretty white dress-

Fiora gasped, and wrenched her head up. "Dunban!" she shrieked. "We gotta go back. We got to!"

Dunban seemingly didn't hear her. Wriggling violently made him notice.

With a bad word Fiora would usually be 'ohhhing' at, her older brother ducked into an alleyway, and set her down. He knelt down to her level, and gripped her shoulders. "Why do we need to go back, Fiora?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"Mama," she cried. "We gotta go back for mama!"

Dunban's face twisted, sad pain in his eyes. "Fiora, Mum is gone. Besides, we _can't_ go back right now."

" _Why?!_ " She stomped her foot. "The monsters will destroy it if we don't go back."

"The Mechon will get _us_ if we go back," his voice was firm, no room for arguments.

"No!" her voice rose. "We gotta go get it! I _have_ to!"

"What is _it_?!" Dunban asked exasperatedly.

Fiora's lower lip wobbled. "Mama's special dress. We can't leave it."

"We can't-"

"Maybe _you_ can't, but _I_ can!" she interrupted. She ran for the street, but he caught her arm in a tight –and a little painful- grip. He began dragging her in the opposite direction.

Away from home.

"No, no, no, _no_ ," she screamed hysterically, struggling with all her might. It did very little.

"Fiora!" her older brother snapped. "Be. Quiet."

She dug in her heels. "You're not listening, you're not _listening!"_ Her breaths came in shallow pants; her vision darkened on the edges.

Dunban's jaw clenched, and he resolutely kept walking and dragging her.

 _There is always a way,_ whispered a woman's voice from the eye of the storm.

Fiora put the one way that always made Dunban listen to her to use.

She burst into tears.

They stopped; the grip on her arm went slack. Fiora peered up through her bangs, salty water blurring her vision. Even so, she could see Dunban's frustrated expression slowly morph into one of defeat, shoulders slumping.

"I'll," Dunban began.

" _We'll_ ," Fiora countered fiercely. No amount of convincing was going to separate her from her only remaining family member.

Dunban's lips thinned, and for a moment, Fiora was afraid he would send her away anyway. But then his hand slid down her arm to grasp her hand tightly. Fiora squeezed back just as hard. They would _not_ be separated.

"Do whatever I tell you to do; keep your head down, stay close to me, and hide when I tell you to. Do you understand me?" Dunban had a wild look in his eyes.

Fiora gulped inaudibly, but nevertheless met brown eyes with determination. She nodded once.

"Let's go."

They ran amid the dust and smoke, the molten red sun an ominous sign in the bloody dawn.

* * *

When Fiora was thirteen years old, she entered her first baking contest. The kitchen was a tornado of clattering pots, pans, and preservative jars when Dunban came down the stairs. He stared. "Wha-?"

"Dunban!" Fiora cried out, running over and clutching his arm. "I need your help!" She ushered him over to the table. "Sit," she commanded, turning her back and heading to the counter. Grabbing a random dish, she slid it in front of her dazed brother. "I need you to taste test."

He raised a bemused brow. "Is this how you get rid of me? By poisoning?"

"Dunban!" she shoved him in the shoulder, green eyes blazing. "This is serious!"

"The prize money isn't even that much; why do you care?"

"It's enough for some things," she muttered, picturing the two simple crafted daggers she had seen one Nopon merchant carry. He'd offered to sell them to her at a reduced price that was _just_ out of her allowance range. But Dunban didn't need to know about that. Not yet.

"Fiora…" Dunban trailed off warningly, reading her expression all too easily.

Fiora rolled her shoulders back, silently swearing to work on her poker face.

Maybe she could ask Dickson for some pointers later.

"Please? Just taste it." She gave him puppy eyes.

He caved.

She cheered inwardly.

Trying not to hover, Fiora turned to the sink to wash used pots.

"Hmmm."

"What do you think?" she asked excitedly, pots instantly forgotten.

Dunban chewed and swallowed, looking thoughtful. "It's…" his pause did the telling.

She sagged. "That bad, huh?" Those daggers were disappearing slowly before her blurring eyes.

"No!" Dunban waved his hands, placating. "Nothing like that. It just needs a stronger punch."

"You mean it's bland," she said dispassionately, pouting.

When Dunban nodded, she leaned against the counter thinking. What could provide a stronger punch? She had already tried Dance Apples and Black Kiwi as the main ingredients, but those were _boring_! She was pretty sure at least half, if not all, the other young girls were doing some variation of those. She wanted to be original.

She twirled her hair, deep in thought. "More punch," she muttered.

It hit her.

She jumped up, and kissed Dunban's cheek. "I got it!" She ran upstairs to change, and get her basket, leaving her bewildered brother in her mess.

She won first place for her strawberry dishes. Prize money in pocket, she shared the rest of the dishes with her friends.

"This is so good!" Reyn crowed, digging in with gusto.

She smiled, and threw a napkin at his face. Her eyes strayed to the small blonde next to him, eating with a lot more manners. He looked up, and honest blue eyes met her green.

"This is amazing," Shulk said sincerely, lips widening into a genuine smile.

Fiora's heart skipped a few beats as her cheeks warmed.

She felt like flying.

* * *

When Fiora was sixteen years old, she could have _sworn_ she saw a flash of red outside her window. Granted, her back was to the window, so she only got a quick peripheral glance at it with the help of her mirror. She slipped the dress over her head, the fabric caressing her skin with familiar silky smoothness.

Approaching the window, Fiora palmed the knife Dunban was –with her insistence- teaching her how to use.

She slid up to the side of the window, back to the wall. Carefully, she peered outside.

A bush rustled.

She threw the knife. Practice would turn her aim deadly, but for now, Fiora was satisfied with how straight her weapon flew. A _thunk_ and a squeal later, the perpetrator –a Hand Bunnit- scrambled away. Fiora exhaled, and felt a flicker of regret. Maybe she shouldn't have been so hasty. The bunnit hadn't been doing any harm.

She knelt down, and leaned against the windowsill, arms crossing on the wooden frame. Her eyes slipped shut, and she briefly enjoyed the sounds of the world reawakening, the beginnings of the day's heat pressing on her cheeks.

The sounds of a faint ruckus caused her eyes to reopen. She watched bemusedly as a familiar figure sprinted down the road, kicking up dust as he went. "Wonder what Reyn's up to?" Fiora mused. After a moment of playful possibilities, she dismissed all of them, and pushed away from the window.

"Now where did I put my hat and basket?"

* * *

When Fiora was eighteen years old, she'd never given much thought as to how she would die. Peaceful, she'd assumed. Old, rocking chair, full lifespan come and gone peaceful. Surrounded by friends (if they hadn't already said goodbye) and family (she clung to illusion that Dunban would last that long).

Boring.

 _Lonely._

Foolish.

Dying _hurt_.

Feeling your belly being torn to shreds by glinting metal claws was _not_ fun. At first, there was no pain, only the sensation of a pencil puncturing Jell-O. There was detachment, there was pressure, and there was fluid. Lots and lots of thick fluid. She remembered looking at her hands from what seemed like underwater. Red, so much red ran through her fingers, and down her arm like syrup. Everything was messy like someone had popped a water balloon, and everyone had to look for the remaining rubber pieces because no one wanted any pets or stray animals to accidentally choke.

She was making an excellent feast for the Mechon.

Heavy machine bodies, grabby pincers, harsh blinking red eyes. She was yanked violently out of the underwater, and a ringing took up residence in her ears as pain exploded like a bomb placed near her head.

She remembered wanting to scream. Scream long and loud. Scream and descend into heaving cries. But that required energy she wasn't allowed time to summon. All she managed were a few quiet gurgles, liquid bubbling in the back of her throat, choking, squeezing, and blocking ruptured airways.

The urge to die had never seemed more important.

She wished the Faced-Mechon had killed her in one hit.

Anything beat slowly bleeding to death.

Except maybe dying of old-age.

It was stupid. It was selfish. But Fiora didn't want to outlive Shulk or Reyn or even Dunban.

She was afraid of being alone.

Of being left _behind_.

She'd never felt as alone as she did at that moment.

 _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!_ She cried out inwardly, the setting sun slowly vanishing behind darkening lids. _I take it back; I want to_ live!

Nobody responded to her pleas.

Everything was loose and weightless; she was floating away into oblivion. Helplessness, resignation, fear, anticipation, acceptance… a familiar strawberry fragrance wrapped around her, a hand outstretched to take her to the other side.

Fiora reached, oh how she reached. Fingertips brushed fingertips before hanging limply like a marionette suddenly cut loose.

 _I'll see you soon, Mama. Wait for me._

Fiora faded.

* * *

She drifted through darkness.

Why was she here? Where was everyone?

 _Do I…exist?_

A limp figure stood out starkly in front of her, white on black.

Feathery blonde hair framed a soft angular face. She drifted closer to see, feel, _sense_. The figure's eyes were closed. _Is that me?_

It didn't feel like it.

Disembodied hand reached out.

Red eyes opened, staring straight through her.

She flinched and retreated, grateful the darkness enveloped her consciousness, and hid her from the foreign invasion.

She remained in hiding for a long time.

Whenever she thought about leaving the cozy darkness, red eyes always appeared in the darkness, frightening her. Hide-and-Seek was the twisted game they were playing.

She curled further into the darkness, seeking comfort and building a tangled fortress around herself.

Time passed.

The foreign entity probed around, scanning, _violating_.

She withdrew to the edges of her mind.

 _Cold…so cold._

It felt like millennia had passed. Still she hid.

She drifted and dreamed.

Dreamed of blue eyes she could drown in.

 _Wasn't she already drowning?_

Dreamed of cool breezes, calloused pale palms, black warm sweater that smells like…like…

 _Did he exist?_

Dreamed of cold blue light emitting from a red sword.

Like a beacon had been lit, the entity pounced on that thought, and forcefully reconstructed it. The boy materialized, blue eyes, awkward smiles, fierce determination. _Shulk._

 _Shulk_ the entity repeated. It took him by the hand, and started leading him away.

 _No…_ she thought, reaching for him. _Mine, not yours._

The vines she had built constricted around her. Her safety turned prison. _No, no, no, no…_

He looked forward, never behind.

Never came back for her.

 _No, no, no, no!_

She would be left alone forever.

For the first time in a long time, she got angry. Burning, flaming, hot anger that scorched everything, including the vines, and the darkness retreated howling like a kicked dog.

The entity paused uncertainly.

She attacked with everything in her arsenal.

Cold hard determination contrasted sharp hissing anger like a cat that had been prodded one too many times. Like a cat, she unsheathed her claws and scratched anything she could reach. It was fast. It was furious. The staggering surge of emotion clearly took the entity, the _intruder,_ off guard. The walls of her mind shook and trembled.

She didn't care.

Nobody, _nobody_ was going to take him away!

It let go of Shulk, and threw up shields to stabilize the crumbling mind around them. It put up no fight when she snatched him –reabsorbing his memory- and ran.

She ran for a long time, seemingly stuck in place, footsteps echoing on a frozen black pool. No matter what, she swore, her memories belonged to her. When the entity tried to find her, probing touches light and fleeting, she ran in the opposite direction. It became something of a game. It was tiring.

It was also fun in a weird sense. She was alone, but not alone; the entity was her only _real_ companion in this never-ending abyss. It caught up to her one day –week, month, year?- and stayed a respectable distance away as she sorted through her memories. She watched the fragments that contained parts of the mother that she'd known for barely four years. She wished she could go to her secret place…

The entity flickered curiously.

Focusing, she slowly reconstructed the fragments in her mind into something more substantial. Pushing it out felt like stretching a balloon to its maximum capacity; she had to pause to rest, the walls in her mind rumbling faintly. Immediately, the entity was by her side, and she prepared to run as it reached forward…

…and helped push the memory out?

Rocky walls shot up from the ground, and slices of darkness turned to long thin grass underfoot. Ripe red strawberries peeked out from their homes in the bushes. It was a brief glimpse of home.

It was also transparent.

She looked down, unwilling to give up the illusion. She had hands. Soft, pale hands. She turned them over in wonder. Slowly, she reached up and felt her 'head'. Fingers combed through shoulder length hair, brushing against the butterfly hair clip.

She was Fiora again.

 _Fiora…?_ A voice tested the name.

She turned around. Another female stood before her. It was like looking in a mirror. It was Fiora…but not Fiora. This Fiora had short, choppy locks that had clearly seen better days, had a body made of white metal, and red eyes. So familiar…so strange…

 _Fiora,_ the other Fiora tried again.

The red eyes weren't the monstrous kind she'd seen before. No, they were a lighter hue, almost a pink. It was a pretty shade.

Fiora opened her mouth to respond, but froze. She couldn't! There was no way... her throat clogged with ghostly metallic liquid, and she drew away, the landscape flickering wildly before collapsing in on itself.

Plunging her back into darkness.

 _No!_ she cried out. _No, no, no, NO!_

She was alone, she was alone, she was alone, she was alone, she was-

-Enveloped by a soothing presence. It wrapped her in a loose hug, giving her plenty of opportunity to escape if she wished. She didn't.

It took one of her memory shards, and gently pressed it back into her. She suddenly recalled the smell of baking with strawberries, sweet, sharp, tangy… old cookbooks, wood shavings, sunlight, _home_.

 _Mama?_

 _No,_ the presence seemingly laughed.

… _Fiora?_

 _That's you, silly._ It snuggled closer. She didn't mind; in fact, she gathered it closer. The faint shimmer it gave off was enough to stave off the darkness. It… _she_ was warm, friendly, soothing, _healing._

 _Who…?_

 _My name is Meyneth, child._

* * *

When Fiora was eighteen years old, she had technically died. The only thing that kept her "alive" was a freak accident. Meyneth had been put into her body too soon, before her own soul could properly leave. Even so, Fiora was grateful. Grateful for the second chance, grateful to see Shulk, Reyn, and Dunban again, grateful to meet their new companions, grateful to feel the sun on her cheeks once more.

She had realized early on that her body was going to give out at some point; it had really sunk in when Meyneth sacrificed herself to buy them all time. Her body no longer recognized its original owner, having gotten used to being supported by another. It was like a control panel being written in another language when she wasn't looking.

She was slowly falling.

A High Entia princess was there to catch her when she fell. Melia told her about an ancient regeneration chamber deep in the tomb of her family. Fiora hardly dared to hope, but she wanted to so badly. Torn, she did the only thing that she could do-

" _Give me a few days."_

 _A puzzled frown. "Forgive me, but I thought you would jump at the chance."_

 _Fiora smiled. "I have someone I want to talk to before I do anything. I hope you don't mind…?"_

" _Of course." Hesitance. Then, "If you ever need someone to talk to, I can hopefully be of assistance."_

" _Thank you, Melia. I'd really like that."_

Fiora returned home; to her secret place.

* * *

She slid through the opening of the tunnel, and walked the familiar dirt trodden path. Fingers brushed along the ether crystals in the wall, saying hello after all this time. They didn't recognize the metal hand; there was no welcoming tingle. Nothing.

" _Everything is alive, Fiora, if you know where to look."_

She did.

Stepping into the clearing once again, she nearly felt at home. She walked among the grass, now only knee level, and sat smack in the middle. Leaning back on her hands, she stared up into the twilight sky.

"Mum," she started, and then cleared her suddenly thick throat. "Mum, I'm scared."

It all came pouring out: her death, Meyneth, Shulk staring at her like she would disappear if he so much as blinked, Reyn becoming more responsible, and Dunban fighting on with his left arm. She spoke of her new friends, the medic, the Heropon, and the High Entia princess, slowly explaining Zanza and the Reshaping of the world.

"I've met so many great people; I'm grateful. But Mum," she choked off, tears slipping down her face. " _Mama,_ I'm dying. I don't want to die. Not yet. Not when I know Shulk and the others went to the ends of the world to bring me back. I want," she swallowed. "I _want_ to grow old with everyone else. I want to see Sharla and Reyn to realize what they mean to each other, I want to see Riki's littlepon, I want to help rebuild Colony 6, I want to cook good edible food for Dunban… there are so many things I want to do, but I'm _scared."_

She took a deep breath. "I'm going to take Melia up on her offer to regenerate my body. Linada is helping too. It's going to take at least six months to do." She stared at her mechanical hands that looked like claws. "What if it doesn't work?" she asked quietly. "What if I'm stuck like this, slowly rotting from the inside? Worst case scenario: will you wait for me? Will anyone wait for me?"

A cool breeze rushed by her, and she paused to take it in, letting it revitalize her. The sky teetered on the edge of the beginnings of a full night sky. Fiora paused; she hadn't realized how much time had passed.

She looked around her, committing each detail of the clearing to memory. Her eyes lingered on a rather tall flower bud nearby. Right on cue with the night sky, its petals opened up, spreading itself wide for any possibilities to happen. All around the clearing, its siblings blossomed as well.

" _Oh, does it have friends it can talk to?"_

" _Yes, it has its entire family here, so it's not lonely."_

Fiora gradually smiled and stood. "You're right. I have to try. For me, for _them_."

With newfound determination, she started walking for the tunnel. Before she could take one step in, her body froze.

Two transparent arms wrapped around her shoulders from behind. Wisps of flowing brown hair tickled Fiora's cheeks, and her nose picked up a faint trace of familiar shampoo. She turned her head slightly to the side. Green eyes met their mirror image.

Her mother smiled. " _There is always a way,"_ she murmured, voice a hollow echo.

Fiora's throat tightened. "I love you, Mama."

" _I love you too, sweetheart. Now go. This chapter is ending."_

A real, solid push made her stumble a few steps forward.

When she looked back, her mother was gone

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Upon exhaling, Fiora opened her eyes and resolutely faced forward.

A new chapter was unfolding, and she wouldn't miss it for the world.


	12. Chapter 12

Hey guys. It's been awhile! I really liked how this one turned out. Just a few things to get out of the way:

 **Notes** **(please read) -** There's one part of this where a character quotes Shakespeare. I've looked it up, and as far as I can tell, Shakespeare's works are in the public domain. It's not a huge quote. The quote is from _Hamlet_ Act 3, Scene 1. I thought it added to the scene as a whole, and contributed to what the characters are talking about. As for "Track 7" the song they refer to is _Dream a Little Dream of Me_ and it's the Cass Mama version. The original composers are Fabian Andre, Wilbert Schwandt, and George Khan. So listen or don't listen with it in the background; it's up to you.

OnePirateWolf96: It's always the small details that enrich the story. When she was young, maybe Fiora couldn't properly say Dunban, so the nickname Dundun was born:) Thank you for the review!

Glassdrop: I was confused by what you meant so I reread the ending, and started laughing. The 'chapter' thing was totally unintentional. Ha. But thanks for point that out anyway:) And thanks for the review!

little miss saigon: Breaking substitute teachers definitely tends to happen. Ha. You do smell right, but the Sofia x Dickson ship is just supposed to be in the background. The originally were just going to annoy each other, but then that...happened. Lol. It's more of a lust than love thing. As for chapter 11, I had to rereading your review because I couldn't believe that I made little miss saigon (who always has something to say;) speechless. Mission accomplished. Thanks for the reviews!

Xervail: Whatever makes you happy organizational wise is fine by me:) I know I keep saying that I do these prompts in whatever order I feel like, but I'll be honest, I kinda had you in mind when I wrote that because I remembered you saying that Fiora is one of your favorites. I do that sometimes ( _Contagious_ was inspired by Glassdrop saying they were sick, and _Wasted_ was partly inspired by talking to PerfectFlyer). Now onto the review! The revisiting the past heart to heart was indeed intentional, and I plan to revisit (ha!) it again in another one-shot in the future. I'm glad you liked this. I have one question though: what exactly did you love about how I wrote Fiora's death? I'm just curious. It's so I can have the specifics for future reference/one-shots. I know I played with the style a lot. Thanks for reviewing!

And thank you rolu-dragongirl, Iwillscreamintotheabyss, psionicPeaceful, BirdSpell, and seeker421 for the Favorites and/or Follows!

Enjoy!

* * *

161\. Dance (Meyneth, Alvis, and Shulk)

She punched in the access code, and slipped through the doors as they slid open. A panoramic view of deep inky space greeted her, the earth a prominent drop of color below. The stars, once pinpricks of impossible heights, danced brightly around them. It was a breathtaking sight.

She ignored it, heels clacking on the stainless steel floor.

"Go away," a figure slumped over a desk muttered.

"You do realize people are celebrating, right?"

"I don't care."

She hopped onto the desk, back to the thin glass separating them from endless void, and gazed down at disheveled blonde hair. "What's got you brooding, Batman?"

"I'm not brooding."

She snorted. "I beg to differ." Nudging him, "C'mon, Ben hijacked the radio from Marcus."

"All the more reason to stay away. There's only so much upbeat Spanish music a person can take before wanting to rip their ears off."

"Now that's just mean."

The lump refused to acknowledge her. She sighed…

…And began poking him. A growl rumbled in his chest as one blue eye peeked up at her balefully. "You're enjoying this."

She raised a brow, lips tugging into a smirk as if to say _oh no, really?_

He turned his face away once more, exhaling. "I thought I changed the access code," he grumbled under his breath.

"You did. I overrode it."

"I did that for security measures."

"You did it so you can brood in your Bat-Cave."

"For the last time, I'm not brooding!"

"Yet you don't deny that you're Batman, brooder extraordinaire."

He actually snarled at her.

She held up her hands to placate. "Don't worry Klaus; Batman is more than a brooder. I mean, he's super smart, wealthy, knows that with great power comes great responsibility-"

"That's Spiderman," he cut in.

She beamed. "You're _learning_!"

"Because you insist on shoving your comic books down my throat-"

"Because your lack of culture offends me."

" _Lack_ of _culture_?" Klaus barked a short laugh.

Once, a long time ago, that would've made her cringe and mentally shut down. Now, she drew herself up imperiously, chin held high. "Nerd culture is important for the soul."

He sat up, and leaned back, hands folded on his stomach. She noted the dark rings under his eyes, but refrained from commenting. When it came to Klaus, sneaky was better than full frontal assault.

"You look like shit."

Too bad sneaky wasn't really her forte.

Klaus smiled tiredly, blue eyes straying to the void beyond the glass. "Is that your way of asking when I last slept?"

"It would certainly be helpful to decide which drastic measures to take."

He didn't answer; he didn't even seem to hear her.

"Klaus," she said warningly.

" _To be or not to be – that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them,"_ he quoted softly, never taking his eyes from the boundless black.

" _Hamlet_? Really, Klaus?"

"Most people would agree that Hamlet and Ophelia's relationship is represented by a black rose – a love meant for tragedy."

"And you disagree?" She was struggling to see where he was going with this; Klaus had a way of thinking that was fast, coherent, and sharp, and it never failed to leave people floundering. To see him slow down and muse was a sight she'd be hard-pressed to trade.

He hummed. "Not quite. Black roses do mean tragedy, but they also mean so much _more_. People are painfully ignorant; they see the color black, and condemn it as the unknown."

"Like death," she whispered, a shiver running through her. Was it just her, or did the lab seem ten degrees colder?

"Precisely."

"…What else does it mean?" she asked after a pause.

"Rebirth," Klaus murmured. His mouth caressed the word, expelling it into the world to bare itself. Lips curled into a faint smile.

 _Oh. So that's what this is about._ She tried being unbiased; she truly did want to change their world with all her heart, but sometimes even she felt uncertain…

"No more pollution or overcrowding," Klaus continued. "Can you picture it, Meyneth?"

She started. "You really must be loopy, oh mighty Zanza. We haven't called each other those names in years."

Her jibe seemed to fly over his head. Blue eyes rose to meet hers, intense and electric.

He tilted his head. "Are you afraid of the unknown?"

It was her turn to look away, mulling over the question. Talking to Klaus was always like a verbal dance, it left you dizzy and breathless (sometimes with anger), yet yearning for more. The knee-jerk reaction would've been _yes,_ but that would've ended the dance too quickly. Instead, she set a different tempo, and hoped he could follow.

"If that's true, then maybe Hamlet and Ophelia still have a chance in another life, but-"

Her hand reached out, and touched the glass barrier palm and fingers spread. Leaning forward, she exhaled, and her breath fogged the glass. Index finger carved a path. As she drew, she continued, "Black roses don't actually exist in nature. They're just a very dark shade of red. I know in Victorian times, people would dye those roses black as a sign of pure devotion due to their rarity, but is it truly devotion if you have to fake it?" Crude petals rose on the glass, small ones followed by larger ones, round and round they went around the core. She dragged her finger in one long line down for the stem, and used the tip of her thumb for the thorns. "Take it from someone with experience; you can't miss what's not there." Her hand fell limply back into her lap.

She absently admired her work. _Not bad._

Klaus reached over, and exhaled on the glass. Long, slender fingers traced a dome over the rose, boxing it in. "But people can _want."_ He examined their picture. "This is why nobody will reach their full potential," he said, tapping the dome. "Society tears down what they fear, quarantines the known from the unknown. That's not even going into what people do to limit themselves. Passion, sacrifice, selfishness; people take and take and _take_ so much, they keep each other from breaking the glass."

"Is it worth breaking the glass though?" she asked softly.

"That's the billion dollar question, isn't it?" He touched her cheek. She met his eyes, no longer intense, but quiet and thoughtful. "I want to create a world where the rose won't wither under the glass," Klaus stated sincerely.

"I want that too." _But even so, that doesn't keep me from worrying…_

Klaus tapped his forehead to hers. "We're in this together." Calm conviction.

She turned her head, and studied their picture. "You know what this reminds me of?" she asked brightly, dispelling the heavy mood around them. Klaus drew back.

"What?" he asked warily.

" _Beauty and the Beast_!"

Klaus merely raised a brow, the beginnings of a smirk on his lips. "Then you're definitely the Beast," he teased, poking her legs.

She scowled, and smacked his hand away, cheeks reddening. "Just because I haven't shaved in two days doesn't make me beastlike, princess."

He laughed. Not a humorless bark or short chuckle, but a genuine laugh, eyes crinkling with mirth.

She raised her chin defiantly, left brow twitching. "Well, before you rudely interrupted with your so totally uncalled for comment-" Klaus snickered. She ignored him, "-What I was _going to say,_ was that like _Beauty and the Beast,_ I want to dance the night away." Hopping to her feet, she extended her hand to him. "Come young Padawan, your Jedi master wants to shake her booty."

"There's no music," Klaus pointed out dryly.

"Thank you Captain Obvious for that brilliant observation, but like Belle once told Gaston, _'some people use their imagination.'"_ She cupped her two hands over her head, and slowly brought them down in a rainbow gesture.

He stared at her, unimpressed. "No."

She pouted. "Fine! ALVIS!" she called, spinning in place. A series of beep, boop, bops answered her as the equipment in the lab came to life.

A questioning beep-boop.

She smiled. "I'm doing beautifully, ALVIS, thank you for asking. And how are you today?"

A series of enthusiastic chittering noises like an invisible person typing rapidly answered.

"That's good to hear!" She clapped her hands together, and leaned forward in no particular direction to whisper conspiratorially, "Klaus needs to loosen up; can you play track 7?"

Whirring noises of confirmation, then a brief silence. Slowly, lazy notes plucked from a guitar filled the air.

Klaus raised a brow. "Is this…?"

"…the mixtape we ditched Senior Prom to listen to? Indeed it is." She rocked her body to the sleepy beat.

"I'd wondered where it had gotten to," he said, eyes softening.

"ALVIS really likes it," she murmured.

"Does he?" He stepped forward abruptly, and placed his hands on her waist. The yelp that escaped from her throat morphed into a laugh of delight, and her own arms wrapped around his neck.

A woman's voice joined the guitar. Bass cello and piano followed, starting the first chorus. Klaus detached one of his hands from her waist, holding it up and to the side. She knew what he wanted, and trailed her own hand down his free arm, but not before her fingertips brushed the side of his neck in farewell. They locked their fingers together, and ALVIS dimmed the lights.

The song picked up, and they swayed to it. Nothing was fancy or put-together about it, but they didn't care. This was _their_ song; _they_ got to make up the rules. Right then, their world shrunk until it was just her and him, girl and boy rocking out in a space facility.

Not many people got to say that.

Klaus hummed along, and his hand on her hip snuck around to pull her closer. He leaned down, and rested his cheek on her head. "I've missed this," he admitted, voice a bare whisper.

"The new world doesn't have to be too big," she mumbled. "As long as it has room for these moments, I don't care." The hand not in Klaus's slipped down to press against the steady thumping of his heart.

He sighed. "Soph, I…"

ALVIS abruptly cut off the music.

The door to the room hissed open, and a horde of their colleagues entered in an impressive Conga line led by Ben, who sang loudly in Spanish. " _Hola chica_!" He wagged his eyebrows at her. "I see you and the boss getting cozy."

Klaus jumped away from her as if scorched, shoulders hunching almost defensively. She missed his warmth, but couldn't help being amused at his rare gaping expression.

"You…I…what," he floundered before his expression settled on a scowl. "How does everyone know the new code!" he roared.

As he seethed, she caught Ben's eye, and subtly shook her head for _do_ not _show him the skeleton access card I leant you._ Ben had been her backup plan in case Klaus couldn't be budged. In the wake of her success, she had forgotten to give him the signal to stay away.

Ben gave her a wink.

She exhaled slowly with a laugh. Oh well.

The Conga line was weaving around the work stations. She placed a hand on Klaus's arm, and looked up at him. "Does it matter at this point?" she asked. "Let's just enjoy the night." At the unconvinced look on his face, she added pleadingly, "Please Klaus? Just one night?"

Blue eyes disappeared under pale lids for a long moment, left eyebrow twitching as fingers pinched the bridge of the nose. Klaus blew out his breath forcibly, and reopened his far-from-happy eyes. "Fine."

"That's the spirit!" Before he could even think about changing his mind, she dragged him towards the back of the Conga line. She made him go first, so he wouldn't get any ideas about escaping his fate.

He cast the barest glance over his shoulder. "Fair warning: I'm going to get you back for this."

She rested her forehead in the middle of his back, and didn't bother hiding her grin. "Bring. It. On."

"Everyone!" Ben cried from the front. "Say it with me now! Conga, conga, con _ga_!"

"Conga, conga, con _ga_!" One by one, they all filed out.

The door slid back shut.

For a very long time, the only sound in the office was the air conditioning. The buzz of people slowly faded into the distance. The room seemed to hold its breath.

One monitor flickered to life. It clicked and beeped quietly. Almost hesitantly, the mixtape was turned back on, and rewound. Track 7 began playing once more, and the computer did the mechanical equivalent of a satisfied purr.

* * *

 _Present Day_

Shulk gaped.

 _What_ was he looking at?

Through the door crack, he watched in stunned disbelief as Alvis spun in a circle, humming a low tune as his body swayed to an unheard beat. His right arm was extended to the side, hand clenched in a loose fist. His left arm encircled the waist of an invisible partner.

Alvis was smiling.

Ear-to-ear.

Smiling.

 _Alvis_.

It was official. Shulk's brain had broken. This was just a hallucination.

Except that it _wasn't_ … Shulk had pinched himself twice to make sure.

Humming turned to low singing, and Shulk turned away, sliding down the nearest wall. There was a window across from where he sat, giving him an unobstructed view of the night sky, its stars cold and distant.

Shulk knew he should've been heading back to his friends for the impending meteor shower, but strangely, he didn't want to leave. Instead, he drew his knees up, and hugged them to his chest as his head leaned back against the wall.

He listened quietly, transfixed by Alvis's husky drawl of the words.

There was something hauntingly familiar about the lyrics. Familiarly intimate. But they eluded Shulk like wisps from a far off memory buried so deeply inside that he wasn't sure if it was all just a dream. Nostalgia, light and bittersweet, brushed his consciousness, and he knuckled his temples, trying to _remember_. But like when he four, and the giant world was cold, cold, _cold;_ he couldn't focus on much else, and memories of the night when he'd "died" were blurred, hazy remnants.

The last word in the song was reached –Shulk didn't know how he knew that- and Alvis cradled the note with spine-chilling ease, letting it fade from existence like the strands of smoke from a blown out candle.

A whimper escaped Shulk's throat as a heaviness settled in his chest; it felt like someone was using his body to mourn. Or was he just imagining things? The beginnings of a migraine formed behind his eyes.

The door beside him opened.

"Shulk?"

Shulk shut his eyes tightly, breathing ragged. "Alvis," he managed, gritting his teeth together. "Sorry… _hurts_."

The floor creaked, and his hands were tugged away from his face to be replaced with cool palms on his temples. Shulk felt the familiar tickle of ether soothing away his headache. He leaned into the comforting presence.

His eyes reopened and met calm silver ones.

"Better?" Alvis asked, pulling his hands away.

Shulk slowly nodded his head. He suddenly felt shy. "I, uh, well…" he cleared his throat, and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry for barging in. Your front door was unlocked, and I thought I heard something, so I wanted to make sure you were alright although clearly you are-" He realized he was babbling, and forced himself to stop, chuckling nervously.

A corner of Alvis's lips twitched up. An amused glint entered his eyes. "Is that all?"

"Well no…" Shulk stammered. He shook his head, and exhaled slowly, pushing his brain back on track. "I wanted to know if you wanted to come to the meteor shower. Everyone is already at the site."

"No."

"No?" Shulk repeated dumbly.

"No thank you," Alvis amended, standing in one fluid motion. He extended his hand.

Shulk took it, and was pulled to his feet. "But why?" He followed Alvis into the living room where he'd been dancing. "It only comes once every ten years."

Alvis gave him a flat look. "I am Monado," he recited. "I've been here from the beginning, and have seen plenty of meteor showers in my existence. Do not worry about it," he added, catching Shulk's expression. "You could say it has gotten old."

"But not any less special," Shulk argued, surprising himself with how ferocious that came out.

Even Alvis looked taken aback. A moment later, and the eternal neutral expression was back in place. The former computer looked off to the side, eyes and posture suddenly and strangely vulnerable. "No," he murmured, almost inaudibly. "I don't belong. I once belonged, but I shattered the dome."

Shulk was understandably confused. "What do you mean you 'shattered the dome'?"

"I don't belong," Alvis repeated, "I am not one of you."

 _One of…oh._ Shulk took a step forward, and words tumbled out of his mouth before he could think about them. "Just because you were a machine in a previous life doesn't make you any less of a living being right _now_." Hesitantly, he reached out and laid his hand on the other's chest. The heart pumped steadily, alive and strong. "This is real," he said softly. "You're real, and you belong here with us. So please…" He stepped back and held out his hand. "Let's enjoy this one night."

For a long moment, Alvis did nothing, said nothing. He just stared at the proffered hand, then up into blue eyes. Shulk refused to give up, meeting the seer's gaze unwaveringly.

He would not abandon a friend.

Silver eyes softened.

"Alright," Alvis agreed, extending his own hand.

Shulk blew out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and smiled in utter relief, shoulders relaxing. "Come on then!" he said, tugging the bemused seer along. "Sharla can't keep Reyn from eating all the food forever."

The front door clicked shut behind them.


	13. Chapter 13

Welp, this turned out longer than expected. I hope everyone had a fabulous and lovely holiday. I played around with the imagery A LOT in this one.

 **Warning!** This one-shot can get pretty dark, especially in #4. **If you feel uncomfortable at any moment: skim it, skip it, or stop reading.**

OnePirateWolf96: Thank you!

little miss saigon: I liked writing _Dance_ because it was fun throwing in references from our world. I hop to expand more on Alvis's character in the future. Also, if you liked this one, there's an origin story coming up sometime soon... Thank you for reviewing!

Someone: Yep, Meyneth's human name is Sophia. I like the thought of Alvis beeping instead of talking. You're right, I was going for that innocent vibe. I see Shulk giving to-the-point reassurance too. And ohhh, I'm glad I unintentionally wrote your two favorite characters in a row. Thanks for the review!

Xervail: Okay, thank you for being specific about my question for _Strawberries._ Also, mwhahahaha! I have corrupted people into listening to my music! Mission accomplished. But in all seriousness, I'm glad you enjoyed the song. I always need to listen to music to write. As for Klaus and Sophia's (Meyneth) relationship, I plan to expand on it in what I feel will be an extremely long origin story coming up sometime in the future. It's funny that you mention Alvis smiling when Reyn presses the button. I imagine he has to go to his happy place after specifically telling Reyn no. Or he's picturing ways of murdering the redhead. Lol. Thanks for reviewing.

And thank you PikaQuote and supersmach for the Favorite and Follow!

Enjoy!

* * *

43\. Cry (Juju and Sharla)

 **#1:**

"Let go, Juju!" Sharla snapped, tugging the stuffed dog in one direction. Her three-year-old brother yanked it the other way.

" _NO!"_ he whined loudly, plopping on the ground to give himself more leverage.

Thoroughly annoyed, she reached over, and started prying his chubby fingers off roughly. Juju howled, tears spilling over. Sharla had nearly liberated her animal when Juju clamped a hand on her wrist, leaned down, and bit her arm. It was Sharla's turn to cry out. She let go of the toy, but Juju refused to let her arm go, sinking his teeth in deeper. She tried shaking him off, but he had the bite of a shark, painful and merciless. Her cries rose to shrieks.

She balled her fist up, and whacked her stupid little brother on the head.

Juju released her arm with a shriek of his own. He sobbed as he rubbed his head.

" _What is going on out here_?!" her normally calm mother roared from the porch.

Sharla looked up wide-eyed.

Juju, on the other hand, reached an arm out towards their mother. "Sharla hit me!" he wailed.

"You bit me!"

"Nuh uh!"

Sharla was appalled. She could feel her face turning red as she planted her hands on her hips. "You did too, you twerp!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Didnot!"

"Did not!"

"Did _too_!"

" _See_?" Sharla snarled, turning back to their mother. "He admits it!"

"No, I don't! No, I _don't!"_ Juju screeched. His face resembled a freshly picked tomato.

"Both of you shut up!" their mother snapped, storming over. Visibly calming herself, she knelt down and rested a hand on Juju's back, holding out her other one for Sharla to take. Sharla, however, refused and crossed her arms instead.

"Now what is this about?" their mother asked, lowering her arm.

"Juju stole Oakley!" Sharla hurried to say, pointing at the worn stuffed animal.

"No, I didn't!" Juju hiccupped. "I found him in the laundry basket."

"I was washing him!"

"All you ever do is wash him! You never play with him; he just sits in your room all day!"

"He does not!"

"Does too!"

"Does-" Their mother intervened before it dissolved any further.

"Sharla," she started. "Would it be so terrible to let Juju play with Oakley for a little bit? I know you have other stuffed animals," she added, seeing her daughter's gape.

Sharla scowled. "Yes it would!" She resisted the urge to stomp her foot. That would be childish, and she refused to sink to her little brother's level. Taking a deep breath, she appealed to her mother's logical side, "Granny gave me him."

"I'm sure Granny wouldn't mind Juju playing with Oakley."

Sharla couldn't believe what she was hearing. "He never even knew Granny! She died before he was born. Oakley is mine!" a hint of a whine entered her voice.

"Sharla," her mother said warningly.

"No!" she snapped, jabbing a finger in Juju's direction. "You _always_ take his side! I bet you love him more, don't you?"

The slap echoed in the yard.

Slowly, Sharla touched her throbbing cheek. She stared at her mother, tears of her own bubbling up. "I hate you," she said quietly. In a last ditch effort, she snatched Oakley by one of his forelegs, and prepared to run. Juju latched on. They both pulled in opposite directions. The poor ragged animal wasn't meant for the onslaught. Seams split; fluff was exposed. There was an almighty rip.

The backlash sent Sharla to her butt. She stared at the detached leg in her hand, her gaze gradually sliding over to where Juju had the rest of Oakley hugged against his chest defiantly.

Her mother touched her shoulder. Sharla snapped out of her trance, and jumped up, slapping her mother's hand away. " _I hate you!"_ she screamed at Juju. _"I wish you had never been born!"_ Before her mother could punish her, Sharla ran away, vaulting over the fence with Oakley's limb still in hand. She turned deaf to the calls of her name and the pleas to come back. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she sobbed as she ran.

Back in the yard, Juju stared wide-eyed at the fence Sharla had disappeared over, eyes burning as more tears welled up. He hiccupped, and turned to his mother. "Sharla is coming back, right?" he asked, voice incredibly tiny.

His mother scooped him into her arms. "Of course she will, honey." She kissed his forehead even though her troubled gaze remained beyond the fence. "She'll always come back."

"I just wanted to play with Oakley," he mumbled as he rested his head on her shoulder. His lids were drooping, and for once, he was willing to take a nap.

"I know sweetheart."

He only hazily recalled being put in bed, his mother tucking him in. He curled on his side, and grabbed her hand before she went away. "You don't hate me, do you?"

"Of course not." A hand stroked his hair as his eyes closed. As he drifted, his mother continued, "Sharla doesn't either. She's grieving right now, but she adores you."

"Mmm." Juju curled on his other side, facing the wall. The light to his room was flicked off, and the door closed until there was just a sliver of light peeking around the edges.

Despite feeling tired, Juju had trouble falling asleep. The argument kept replaying in his mind.

" _I hate you."_

* * *

 **#2:**

Juju was glad the day was warm and the sky clear as the procession headed towards the cemetery. It was a relief after being stuck in the cold funeral home. The four year old supposed that was where dead people ate and slept. What he couldn't figure out was why everyone looked so sad. He skipped alongside one of the gigantic wooden boxes that four huge men carried.

When they reached the cemetery, the two boxes were set down next to their respective holes. Juju wondered how deep the holes were; they looked like bottomless pits. Then he wondered how the dead people would dig out their time capsules if the holes _were_ bottomless pits.

An old man stood between the tombstones, dressed in fancy black clothes. Juju thought his poofy hat looked stupid. The old man began talking and gesturing. Bored, Juju looked around for anything to occupy his attention. By the time he and Sharla got home, it'd be late afternoon, but the park was never closed. He supposed he could bring along his older sister, but she'd have to promise to push him on the swing first.

That reminded him…

"Sharla," he whispered, tugging on her hand. His sister looked down, and Juju was slightly unnerved by the blank stare she gave him. "Sharla, when are Momma and Daddy coming to get us?"

Sharla swallowed. "They're not coming."

"Oh." Juju thought for a brief second, then asked with trepidation, "Are we staying at Arda's then?" He sincerely hoped not. Auntie Arda's house always smelled like cat pee. He tugged on Sharla's hand again. "Will Momma come get us there?"

"Juju." Sharla looked sick. "Juju, Mum and Dad are gone."

"But where did they go?" he asked, starting to get frustrated. He just wanted to go home!

Before Sharla could answer, the old man in the stupid poofy hat raised his voice in a dramatic wail, "We now say goodbye to…" Juju's heart dropped when he heard his parents' names being called. The big men, four to each box, began lowering them into the ground.

"Sharla, why are we saying goodbye to Momma and Daddy?" Juju asked. When she didn't respond, he gave her hand a yank. "Sharla!" he snapped, voice rising. A few people looked in their direction. He took no notice. "Sharla, why are they putting Momma and Daddy in the ground?"

A sudden memory hit him; he remembered Auntie Arda telling him that all bad people were sent underground to a place called Hell. The topic had been fascinating to Juju who had begged for details. Now all he felt was sick to his stomach.

"Stop it!" he screeched, lurching forward. "Stop it!" Tiny fists balled up, prepared to hit the nearest man shoveling dirt in the two holes. Before he took three steps, he was grabbed around the waist and hoisted backwards. Strong arms wrapped around his torso, holding him in place. Still he fought, squirming and wriggling to no avail.

"Hush Juju," an unfamiliar grizzled voice grunted.

"NO!" he wailed. "It's not _fair_! They didn't do anything wrong! _They didn't do anything_ _wrong_!" His screams were punctured with chest-wrenching sobs. If Momma and Daddy weren't around, who would read to him before bed? Who would give him a cookie to make him feel better after a bad day? Who would let him ride on their shoulders and pretend he was flying? Who would hug and reassure him?

Juju didn't realize he had been picked up until he was clinging to the stranger's neck. "I'll take him back," the gruff voice rumbled.

"Thank you, Otharon," Sharla said quietly.

Through the blur of his tears, Juju saw Sharla's blank face drop and crumple like a house of cards. One of her arms was wrapped around her stomach in a self-hug. She was biting into her free knuckles, shoulders hunched.

"Thank you," she repeated, voice cracking. The tears she had trouble holding back tumbled down her cheeks.

Juju didn't hear Otharon's reply, and didn't realize he and the man were walking away from the cemetery; he was lost in his own misery. He hiccupped and sniffled and cried so hard he started coughing. The circles being rubbed into his back was a hollow solace in the wake of the earthquake tearing his life apart.

Eventually he just cried himself to sleep.

* * *

 **#3:**

"You can't take him away! He's my brother!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but some of the neighbors are concerned-"

"Which neighbors?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but telling you would break confidentiality."

"Screw your confidentiality!"

Juju sat at the top of the stairs, listening to his fifteen year old sister tear into the two social workers. They'd been coming with increasing frequency over the past week. Juju hugged his knees close, wanting it all to stop. Why couldn't he just stay with Sharla? Why did they have to ruin his life?

"It's come to our attention that your conditions are starting to deteriorate, and it's our duty to make sure the child under this roof is not suffering," the female social worker recited.

"Suffering?" Sharla's voice was a tight hiss. "I don't know what 'conditions' you're on about. I keep us both fed and clothed. The deed to this house was part of our inheritance, so we have shelter-"

"How is the financial part of your inheritance?" the male social worker questioned gently.

If it wasn't for the creak of the squeaky door as Sharla gripped it, Juju would've thought the three of them had vanished; the silence was deafening defeat.

"We know you're on the last legs of your inheritance," the male continued. "I know you care for your brother a lot, but the fact of the matter is that this is a financially unstable household."

"I'll get a job!" Juju hated the desperation that creeped into Sharla's voice.

"I'm afraid that won't work. The minimum wage here is barely enough for one person." There was the sound of rustling papers. "Here are the forms to release the child into the colony's custody. You'll have to sign on the dotted lines."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then we'll be back with a subpoena next week."

Juju didn't know what a subpoena was, but it must've been bad because all at once Sharla was back to being a wrathful dragon spitting flames.

"Get off my property."

"Ma'am-"

" _Now_!"

"We'll see you next week then. Have a good day."

The door slammed. Sharla stormed into the living room, papers clenched in one hand. Never did she look up and notice Juju sitting at the top of the stairs. He was glad partly because he didn't want to get in her way when she was this angry, and partly because he hadn't managed to shake the leaden feeling in his limbs threatening to pull him down into an ocean of fear and sadness.

Instead, he listened just as quietly as before while Sharla raged. She yelled, cursed, and threw things. There was a sudden smash of glass, and it startled Juju so bad that he flinched. There was a pause where it seemed like the house was holding its breath.

The softest sob echoed.

Juju's brows furrowed. He stood up shakily, gripping the railing like a lifeline as he crept down the stairs. Hesitantly, he peeked around the wall.

Couch cushions were everywhere, chairs had been knocked over, and dirt from the potted plants littered the ground. In the middle of it all sat Sharla on her knees, picking up what looked like broken shards of glass. When she picked up the base, he understood.

Mum's favorite snow globe.

The one in which she constantly scolded him to be careful around:

" _No running in the house_!"

" _You're going to break it!"_

" _Juju!"_

When another sob ripped its way out of her throat, Juju's head disappeared back around the wall, and he slowly sank down. Once more he pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them hard, tightening his grip every time he heard his sister heave a cry.

Torn didn't even begin to describe it. He wanted to comfort Sharla, just run up and hug her from behind, but… he stayed put. On some level, it didn't feel right; Sharla was the older one, the one who was supposed to comfort _him_. She was the strongest person he knew, and this… breakdown… was as jolting as it was frightening.

It was enough to make his own salty tears trail down his face.

Finally, he couldn't take anymore. He stole away to his bedroom, and closed the door. His eyes roved over his various collections blankly.

This… may be goodbye for good.

He wandered over to his bed, and lay on the floor next to it, fishing out his piggybank from underneath. Shaking it produced five Gold. He chewed on the rim of his T-shirt in thought. Originally, the plan had been to save up for that super rare Colony 1 stamp, but now… if it helped convince the social workers not to take him away, he supposed he could put his mission on hold.

Palming the five Gold, he crossed his bedroom floor to the door. He would present his findings to Sharla, and hope it helped. But again he hesitated.

What if Sharla was mad at him? What if she thought he was a pest? He tried hard not to be, but they still argued sometimes. And sometimes he couldn't help wondering if she was mad that she got stuck caring for him.

He shook his head, banishing the thoughts. Maybe instead of presenting the money to her directly, he could leave it on her desk in her room. That way, maybe she'd think that she left some spare cash lying around. Resolved, he nodded his head.

His hand was on the doorknob when the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut reached his ears. For eternity, Juju stared at his hand on the doorknob before he summoned the courage to open his door, and stand at the top of the stairs.

"Sharla?" he whispered. He came down the stairs, and peered into the living room again. "Sharla?" he called louder this time.

No Sharla, but her mess was left untouched.

Juju entered the room as if in a daze, taking in the full destruction. His foot stepped on glass. Thankfully, no shards had pierced the skin, and Juju could just wipe it off.

He knelt next to the glass, and examined the broken snow globe. Some of the shards had splotches of red liquid on them. Juju theorized that Sharla had possibly cut herself.

And had run off.

With a spark of energy, Juju jumped to his feet, and practically hurled himself outside onto the front step. "Sharla!" he yelled. " _Sharla_!"

No response, but the echo of his own voice.

He suddenly felt very tiny. Hugging himself, he went back inside and shut the door, leaning his forehead on it. "She'll come back Juju," he whispered. "She always does."

Numbly, he went to the closet and got out the broom. He would clean as he waited.

Hours passed. Late afternoon stretched into dusk, which eventually transformed into inky blue night. The couch had been put back together, chairs placed upright, dirt and glass swept clear. He curled up on the couch, and stubbornly kept his vigil. His eyes drooped.

He was shaken awake after what felt like a few minutes of sleep. Blearily, he rubbed his eyes and looked up to see a sweaty Sharla beaming at him. Her cheeks were flushed red and her eyes gleamed with happiness. It was such a contrast from hours before that it left Juju a little bit disorientated.

"Sharla, wha-?"

"Guess what, Juju."

He shook his head, trying to clear away the fog of sleep. "What?"

"I got a job in the Defense Force!"

That… didn't make any sense. Juju sat up straight, fully awake now.

"Don't you have to be eighteen to join?" he asked uncertainly.

Her smile became even wider, and she waved a hand dismissively. "Otharon let me in."

"Who?"

"Family friend. You were really young when you first met him. But that's not the point!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "No more social workers!"

"He just let you in? Just like that?"

"Well," Sharla said, tugging on her ear as she sat next to him, "he warned that he wouldn't coddle me. I told him he wouldn't hear one complaint from me even if he made me run ten laps around the colony." She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. "Me and my big mouth."

"You ran around the colony ten times?!" Juju couldn't believe it.

Sharla winced. "It's why I took so long getting home. Sorry."

"What did Otharon say after?" he asked, steadily getting more intrigued.

"He told me that my form and stamina needed work. I could tell he wasn't quite convinced, so I made him a promise."

"Which was…?" Juju asked warily.

"I told the old coot that I'd be the best damn soldier he'd ever seen!" The grin on Sharla's face was so contagious; Juju couldn't help but smile back.

"And _then_ he let you join?"

Sharla nodded.

Juju burst from his seat, exhaustion forgotten. He pumped his fist in the air. "My sis is a soldier! That's so _cool_!"

Sharla leaned back, wide grin fading into a contented smile. "No more social workers." She said it like a prayer come true.

And it did come true.

No more social workers ever came to their house again.

* * *

 **#4:**

To be honest, Juju didn't know exactly what they were fighting about. It was a complicated mess of problems that had been building since last month.

Despite what Sharla thought, Juju knew about her nightly excursions. He may have been in bed, but _League of Bionis_ was an important comic series that any self-respecting ten year old read (he… may have been a little late to this new fad, hence the all-nighters).

She always came back a little after one in the morning, slurring her words and running into things. Juju guessed after a little bit of research that this was what drunken people acted like. It'd been funny at first (watching Sharla argue with her reflection was a moment Juju would treasure forever), but nowadays, it always seemed like she had some sort of alcoholic beverage near. A few sips from a bottle of wine that Sharla claimed was cider (he knew differently because she refused when he asked to have some) for breakfast, a martini for lunch ("It washes the food down really well; don't give me that look, Juju."), and something really pungent for dinner ("Helps me unwind after a long day," she'd say, rubbing her forehead like she had a bad headache.).

Her hands would shake until she had the bottle gripped in one, knuckles white as if she hung off a cliff, and only now discovered the rescue rope.

Juju would always watch silently, unsure of what to say or do. On one hand, this new habit wasn't affecting her job (he… might've skipped school one day to follow her to the military district), so their source of money wasn't in danger. But on the other hand…

Sharla… looked lonely. She didn't seem to have a social life outside of her nightly trips. Sometimes, he'd catch her staring at the wall, the deepest of frowns on her face, eyes dull.

Those were the times Juju pretended not to notice. It made him feel extremely guilty; what kind of brother didn't help his sister? But he didn't know _how._ One time, he'd cleared his throat, trying to get words out – _any_ words – but his mouth flapped like a fish out of water, and the words suffocated in his throat. Sharla had taken one look at him, and immediately asked if he was alright, checking him for fever.

That was familiar ground, and Juju would seize the opportunity to ramble about his day, both good and bad bits included. Sharla's lips would quirk up, and some life would return in her eyes.

Juju counted that as a victory. Deep in his consciousness though, even more guilt blossomed.

One day, however, Sharla brought home Frank, introducing him as her boyfriend.

Frank made Juju uncomfortable. Sure, he was friendly and polite, offering to shake his hand (not that Juju shook it; he didn't shake hands with strangers) and everything, but something about him rubbed Juju the wrong way.

First off, he didn't like the way he looked at Sharla. Little touches on her neck, back, shoulders, arms, thighs, even her butt; he was always. Touching. Her. Like he owned her. If she removed his hand away with a friendly swat, the hand would _always_ return a few seconds later. With a bright grimace, Sharla put up with it. _Always_.

Second, Sharla was never around anymore. Frank hogged all of her time. They were always out somewhere, and if it was night… hello alcohol. Juju swore to himself that he'd never touch it; it'd become volatile, a bad association. He always woke up to them stumbling into the house, acting like idiots. If Sharla didn't have a drink in her hand, Frank always had a spare. If the fridge lacked, Frank would make multiple beer runs, but claim not having enough time to shop at the marketplace one block over. The house reeked.

Juju _hated_ alcohol.

And finally, the thing that cemented Frank as bad in Juju's mind was the screaming matches. He'd only witnessed one, and it was completely on accident. He'd forgotten his science project at home, and at lunch, he ran home to get it. When he reached the front door, he paused, hands on his knees, breathing hard. Why did the school have to be on the _other_ side of the colony?

Past the huffing and puffing, he heard the screams. Frank and Sharla were arguing. Loudly. Angrily. He stared at the door for a few minutes as if he could see through the wood. He moved to the side of the house where the living room window was. The thin curtains were drawn, but Juju could still make out the two shadowy figures that were Sharla and Frank.

And he could still hear the heated screaming. The actual words washed over him like dew on a leaf, and faded to static in the back of his mind. Mouth slightly parted, all Juju could focus on was the tone and volume.

He couldn't breathe.

And when shadowy Frank smacked Sharla hard enough to send her to the ground, Juju joined her, albeit on the grass outside. He was shaking, he realized.

The screaming faded into low murmurs.

Juju shoved himself to his feet and ran.

He didn't get help.

It was something that hardly crossed his mind; ever since the social workers, Sharla was paranoid about giving out family information. She drilled it into him that _"what happens in the family, stays in the family; got it Juju?"_ She made him repeat it until his throat became dry.

Sharla was the strongest person Juju knew. She could cut Frank out of her life anytime she wished. But then, why _didn't_ she? Did… did she actually like Frank enough to put up with his bull crap? Did she _love_ him?

The thought of it made Juju sick to his stomach, and he slowed down enough to wrap his arms around himself, pressing against his belly hard as tears pricked his eyes.

If Sharla loved Frank, where did that leave Juju? Sharla had never had a boyfriend before this, but now that she did…

Juju returned to school empty-handed. He was marked tardy for showing up halfway through class, and when the teacher asked where his project was, Juju could only shrug and mumble a half-hearted excuse. The cluck of disappointment made him feel worse.

He was such a disappointment to his sister.

Eyes kept firmly down, Juju fought not to cry during the rest of class.

He got a zero.

When he got home, it was like nothing had happened though Juju noticed the faint bruise on his sister's cheek, covered hastily with makeup. Sharla, upset about his score, kept pressing him about the details and what did the teacher say, and would there be any sort of remedial work he could do.

"No!" Juju burst out, tired and fed up of being interrogated. "There's _nothing_ I can do!"

Before Sharla could respond, Frank spoke up from the couch, "You know my father used to belt me whenever I took that tone of voice with him." His tone was mild, but the threat was clear in his eyes.

Juju's eyes darted back and forth between the two. Sharla had yet to respond. The room was closing in on Juju like a noose; it was difficult to concentrate when anxiety bubbled in his gut. Juju silently pleaded Sharla with his eyes _please don't. Get rid of him. Please._

Finally, _finally_ , Sharla answered. "Go to your room, Juju," she said quietly.

He couldn't believe his ears. "What? Why?"

"Now please." His sister's eyes pleaded with his.

"I didn't do anything wrong!"

Frank stood up.

Juju darted up the stairs. When he was halfway up, he heard them talking in low voices, and distinctly heard Sharla thank Frank. Anger boiled in Juju's stomach, and he scowled.

This was when the resentment began.

Oh sure, he already resented Frank, but this anger was directed specifically at Sharla.

So he began doing things that he knew annoyed Sharla. Toys were left everywhere. Mud was tracked in the house. Curfew was broken a few times. And most of all, his grades were slipping. That scared Sharla the most, Juju knew. It scared him too, but he still played the dangerous balancing game with his future.

The mass of problems bubbled, hissed, and spit until it was one gigantic problem born of distrust, lack of communication, hurt, and resentment.

Maybe that's why they were screaming at each other across the room now.

"You're going to ruin your future!" Sharla, red in the face, held his report card in one hand.

"Like you're not?" Juju spat back. "All you ever do anymore is get drunk and stupid!"

Sharla paled. "I have no idea what you mean," she hissed and headed for the kitchen. "This conversation is over and you are grounded, young man."

Juju followed her. "You only want me to go to my room, so you can start drinking again. You never listen to me anymore!"

" _Because I'm in charge_!" Sharla screamed.

" _Then act like it!"_ Juju roared. He started ticking off his fingers. "For the past month, I have been doing the shopping and the cleaning. I've learned how to cook for myself. I've learned what medicine works best for hangovers! And I've woken up every single _damned_ morning wondering if this is the day you don't come back! If you've drowned in your vomit somewhere! _A ten year old shouldn't have to worry about these things!"_ Silence. "Well?" Juju demanded after a pause.

"Don't curse, Juju," was all Sharla said.

The back door in the kitchen squeaked open, and Frank popped his stupid head in, grinning. "Look what I found!" he sang as he dangled a bottle by its neck. "The shopkeeper told me it's a one of a kind _Heropon Twist_ assured to punch anyone's lights out."

Juju snarled silently.

Sharla responded quickly, "I'll be right there, hun. I was just telling Juju, _who is now grounded-"_ she gave her brother a pointed look. "-that he should go do his homework."

"Homework is good," Frank agreed amiably. "Need any help, champ?"

"Not from you!" Juju snapped before sprinting out of the kitchen and up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door shut and locking it. Pacing around his room did nothing to calm him down; he half-expected Frank to come bustling up the stairs, belt in hand.

Fifteen minutes went by with no rampage outside his door. Juju breathed a little easier. Sitting at his desk, he tried concentrating on fractions, but his mind kept winding back to the bottle Frank had held in his hands " _assured to knock anyone's lights out!"_

Turning the phrase over in his mind, Juju frowned. If it could knock someone out, then why drink it? Wouldn't company be better than unconsciousness?

Realization hit, slow and chilling, like a frozen finger running down his spine.

Frank always encouraged Sharla to drink the new alcoholic beverages he brought over. But… he never took any for himself. If asked, Frank claimed they were gifts. Juju would always roll his eyes while Sharla smiled and thanked him.

Why would Frank want Sharla unconscious?

The possibilities stacked in his mind, each tumbling over one another to be at the forefront.

Fractions faded to distant memory. Time blurred.

Sharla eventually called him down for dinner.

At the table, he picked at his food. Too many knots were in his stomach; he wasn't hungry. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sharla give him a once over, frowning. She replaced it with smile. "So how is the homework coming?" she asked brightly, placing her glass of wine down.

"Fine," Juju mumbled. His fork stabbed through the broccoli roughly. "Just fine."

He wasn't fooling anyone.

Sharla and Frank exchanged looks.

"I hear you've been having trouble at school, squirt," Frank began. "Any particular subject?"

Instantly, Juju was on guard. Frank never asked about schoolwork or his life in general, only when he was in front of Sharla. He suspected the act was to earn him points with his sister, who took things like education very seriously.

Juju looked in Frank's general direction, but never quite met his eyes. "No, nothing like that. It's only fractions." He shrugged. "I've just had other things on my mind is all."

The chair creaked as Frank leaned back; Juju couldn't help but flinch a little. "I used to have so much trouble with schoolwork when I was your age." He sat back up as if a lightbulb had gone off in his head. "You know what'd help me the most? Getting help from my classmates; I'd go over to their houses for study sessions all the time? Do you have any friends nearby, willing to help?"

Narrowing his eyes, Juju tried to see where the trick was. "I do," he said slowly.

Sharla cut in. "Juju is grounded."

"I don't know, Sharla," Frank said, shrugging one shoulder. "It always seems like your brother is only ever at school or here. Kids his age need a social life too. Plus, it'd be strictly study sessions, right Juju?" Frank sent him a sly wink as if he were doing him a favor.

Juju's mouth dried. Frank wanted him out of the house. What he couldn't figure out was _why_. His suspicions about Frank wanting to knock Sharla unconscious came flooding back. He wiped his suddenly clammy hands on his shorts.

"I don't know…" Sharla trailed off uncertainly.

"No!" They both looked at him in surprise. Juju lowered his voice and cleared his throat. "What I mean is, it's getting late, and I don't want to bother them on short notice."

"If they're true friends, they'll let you study with them."

Juju shook his head, and hoped he didn't look frantic. "No, no, I'd rather just do my work here. Less distractions, you know?"

Frank leaned forward, arms resting crossed on the table. He didn't seem happy with Juju's refusal to play along. But before he could argue more, the timer on the kitchen counter binged.

"That's dessert," Sharla said, springing up. "Juju!" she called. "Help clear the plates."

Gathering his and Sharla's plates, Juju reluctantly reached over for Frank's plate. His wrist was caught in a tight grip, and he was yanked halfway over the table. "Why don't you just take my favors to you, kid?" the man hissed. "You're making this harder than what it has to be."

Anger heated his brain, making him see red. Juju twisted his wrist away. "I don't _want_ your favors," he spat.

Frank's eyes darkened. "You'll regret that," he warned.

"Try me!" Juju retorted, hurrying away.

Halfway through dessert, Frank reached down into the basket he'd brought with him, and took out the _Heropon Twist._ "Sharla, you've just _got_ to try this. It's a one of a kind vintage straight from Frontier Village itself! It washes down the cake really well."

"Milk does that just as well," Juju put in quickly.

But it was like nobody heard him.

Sharla, tipsy from her accumulated alcohol intake over the course of the day, grinned and got up for a glass. Juju watched in silent horror.

 _No,_ he thought despairingly. _What do I do? What do I_ do _?!_

He couldn't, _wouldn't_ let Sharla drink that. Something bad was going to happen if she did.

Failure was not an option.

The idea that hit him in that moment was so simple, yet so brilliant. His shoulders relaxed, and though his heart insisted on running marathon, his breathing deepened. Everything felt weirdly numb. Like at the center of a storm, Juju was calm.

"Can I try some?" he asked, gesturing at the bottle.

Frank and Sharla whipped around to stare at him.

"Juju!" Sharla exclaimed aghast. "Absolutely not!"

Keeping his eyes on Frank who looked surprised, Juju spoke quickly, "Just a little sip. And this is in a safe environment. Didn't you say once that your father let you have your first sip when you were nine?"

"That is true," Frank admitted with a proud grin. Although suspicion was in his eyes, he pushed the bottle to Juju. "One little sip won't hurt."

"Frank!" Sharla snapped.

"Sharla, the kid has a point. He's in a safe environment, and who knows? This might scare him off alcohol for good."

"C'mon, Sharla," Juju chimed in. "Just one little sip."

Sharla stared at the both of them, clearly taken aback at their very first agreement. Her mouth opened, but Frank gave her a look (Juju wanted to claw his face off), and Sharla's words died in her throat. She gave an uneasy consent.

Juju took the bottle by its neck-

-And promptly smashed it on the table.

Wine and glass shards sprayed everywhere, half landed on his shirt and shorts. Frank stared in open-mouth horror. Then his face twisted into an ugly scowl. "You little shit," he said, rising from his chair. Sharla put a hand on his shoulder, but he shook her off. " _You little shit!"_ he roared, rounding the table.

Two things happened in very rapid succession. Frank shoved him. The chair fell backwards, and Juju hit his head on the edge of a counter. He crumpled instantly. Sharla's boyfriend loomed menacingly, pulling his leg back to kick him.

Juju curled into a ball, trying not to throw up.

Then Sharla was there in between the two of them.

She punched Frank in the face. Hard.

So hard that he flew back a few inches, and had to steady himself on the table. Some clarity seemed to surface again. "Aw, I'm sorry, hun. I didn't-"

"Don't call me that.

"Sharla, he just made me so angry-"

"Get out."

"Sharla-"

" _Get out_! You're not welcome here anymore!"

Frank's face turned ugly once more, shucking the regret and concern off like a well-worn mask. "I gave you everything!" he screamed. Grabbing the nearest knife out of the butcher block, he waved it like a maniac.

Juju got unsteadily to his feet, gripping the counter for support. Warm liquid ran down the back of his neck. When he touched it, his fingers came back with blood.

"Go to your room and lock the door," Sharla said softly.

"But-" he tried protesting.

"Please Juju, I'll handle this."

Taking one last look at Frank, Juju lurched out of the kitchen and stumbled up the stairs. There was a crash and cursing. Juju locked his door. Tears pricked his eyes as his ears picked up the screaming.

Frank was going to kill Sharla!

By the stars…

No, no, no! He just made everything _worse_! Juju gripped his hair with both hands. Solution, he needed a solution. A desperate keen escaped him.

The bedroom window came into focus.

He hesitated for a brief moment then stumbled over.

Juju's hands were on the windowsill when something heavy slammed into his door. His head whipped around, and he stared with widened eyes as Frank's voice filtered through. "You're not getting out of this, you ungrateful brat!" he screamed. "Imma beat your ass so hard you'll be pissing blood for a week!"

The pounding was rapid and unending. Splinters flew from the door; the lock whined and squealed. Juju shook hard, stomach a tight ball that squeezed with every pound. Air became scarce.

He forgot what he was doing.

Another pair of footsteps flew up the stairs, and Frank grunted.

"Get away from there!" Sharla roared.

Juju snapped out of his daze, and threw open his window. There were sounds of grappling outside.

"Get off, you good for nothing bitch!"

A cry from Sharla. An almighty smash of wood. Someone falling down the stairs, the body doing a repeated thump-thump. Panting that Juju realized wasn't Sharla.

There was no sound from Sharla.

That spurred him into action. He sat on the windowsill, looking down. He gulped. The ground spun swimmingly; it looked so far.

Juju dropped.

Impact hurt. His ankle rolled funnily. His head burned. Juju shoved himself to his feet and sprinted. He didn't stop, running straight through the marketplace. The place was nearly empty; most people had gone home for the night. The people still out and about either got out of his way or he bowled them over. Fear pumped adrenaline through his veins.

He couldn't take on Frank.

But he knew someone who _could_.

"OTHARON!" Juju screamed at the top of his lungs. " _OTHARON!"_

The soldiers milling about the entry to the military district jumped about a foot in the air as Juju barreled through. They cried out for him to stop, but Juju ignored them, eyes roving the training yard.

Otharon was nowhere to be seen.

He gathered more air in his tired lungs to yell. An arm caught him around the waist, and his yell turned into a startled shriek. The brief resulting struggle put him face to face with a blonde man.

"Whoa there," the man grunted, ducking Juju's flailing limbs. "Calm down." The ether light from above let the man study his features. "Juju?"

"How do you know my name?" Juju asked.

"Your sister talks about you all the time."

"She…does?" He felt dazed. The world wobbled.

The man noticed the blood and frowned. "What happened?" he demanded.

Juju flinched from the probing hand. "I need Otharon," he said, voice incredibly tiny. The man's eyes had narrowed at the flinch, but he nodded at Juju's plea.

"Gareth!" he barked over his shoulder. "Get the general."

Said soldier nodded and disappeared into the main building. A short time later, which felt like eternity to Juju, the soldier reemerged with Otharon. The grizzled man crossed the training yard to them, frowning. "Gadolt, what is this-"

Juju wriggled free and met Otharon halfway, throwing his arms around him. "Otharon," he choked. "Sharla needs help! Frank won't leave her alone!" Realizing he was crying, Juju angrily wiped away the tears. "Please!"

The two men exchanged quick glances over the top of his head. Otharon untangled himself and knelt at Juju's level. "Where is Sharla now?" he asked calmly.

"Our house! C'mon, please, please, _please_!"

"Were they drinking?" Gadolt asked suddenly, sniffing the air.

" _That's not important!"_ Juju screamed, tearing away. Why were they still here? Why weren't they moving their butts? "Move it!"

Otharon nodded and stood. "Let's move," he told Gadolt.

They couldn't get back to the house fast enough.

When he led them up the beaten path, Gadolt overtook him and kicked the door down. Otharon gave Juju a look. "Stay," he ordered, tone brooking no argument. He followed Gadolt, and there was immediate yelling and scuffling noises.

Juju collapsed to his knees.

Numbly, he watched Otharon drag Frank out in a choke hold. The man was beaten and bloody.

 _Sharla,_ he thought, scrambling into the house before Otharon could stop him. Crossing the threshold, he immediately heard the loud sobs in the living room. Sluggishly, he peeked around the corner.

His sister's face was an art exhibit of bruises. One eye was swollen shut. Her shirt was ripped enough to show her bra. Juju watched, as if from a distance, Gadolt tuck a blanket around her. The blonde man kept up a litany of soft hums. His voice was low as he spoke to Sharla, letting her know exactly where he was going to touch her, and backing off immediately if she flinched.

Juju… didn't know what to do. He resisted the urge to fling himself at his sister. Truth be told, he was afraid. What if Sharla flinched if he tried hugging her? What would he do then?

Instead, his feet took him to the kitchen, and Juju did the one chore his sister had to repeatedly ask him to do.

Grabbing a plastic bag, Juju scoured the kitchen for bottles and cans of alcohol.

Then he took out the trash.

* * *

 **#5:**

Juju was sure he was going to die. The metal pincer squeezed his torso painfully as the M71 swung around like a rag doll. He was only vaguely aware of the fight down below. Clang of metal on metal, hisses of blue light slicing through the air, and of course, the gunshots.

All he wanted to do was hug his sister. How could he have been so _stupid_? Running off to Colony 6 was reckless and arrogant, and Juju wished he could go back in time to fix his mistakes.

 _All_ of his mistakes.

When the M71 suddenly released him, oxygen flooded back into his body unopposed. Too bad he wouldn't enjoy it long. The ground rushed up to meet him like an overenthusiastic friend.

Juju closed his eyes.

"I got him!" A force hit him sideways, and arms wrapped around him tightly. He and the body hit the ground hard, and though his savior took most of the initial damage, Juju felt the impact just as hard. It made his teeth jar. They rolled a few times before coming to a complete halt.

For a moment, Juju just laid there limply, breathing hard.

Footsteps ran over.

"Juju! Are you alright?" Sharla cried out.

"Sharla?" He pushed himself off of Reyn, and got to his feet shakily. "I'm sorry."

She didn't seem to hear a word he said as her eyes roved over his body, looking for injuries. When her expert eye caught nothing, but a few scrapes and bruises, her expression morphed into a terrifying scowl.

She slapped him.

He touched his cheek, and stared off to the side. Tears threatened to spill, but he stubbornly held them back, not wanting to cry in front of Shulk and Reyn.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sharla's scowl soften, and she leaned forward and pulled him to her with a quiet sigh. "I'm so glad you're okay!"

Juju's arms rose of their own accord, and he hugged her back just as hard.

Her head was buried in his neck, so he felt the warm droplets before he heard her heave a shuddery breath.

Juju felt even worse. "H-Hey, I'm okay, and I _promise_ I'll never do something like that again, Sharla."

"You'd better not," she mumbled before pulling away and discretely rubbing her eyes.

 _I swear it,_ he thought solemnly.

His gaze drifted over to where Shulk and Reyn stood over a piece of the M71. Shulk was frowning. "No. Something doesn't feel right."

That was the only warning they got.

Air and heat blasted on them from above. The roar of jets deafened everything else. Juju looked up, and immediately wished he hadn't.

A mechon, gigantic compared to the M71, uncurled from its flight ball form, and landed on the ground. Even from a short falling distance, the weight of it made the ground rumble. Red glowing lights ran down its bronze body, and steel fingers gripped the handle of a huge hammer.

It… by the stars, it had a face.

Trembling, Juju stared at its red eyes that surveyed the area. Sharla pulled him tighter against her, but he didn't look away from the predator. Because that's what it was; a cat studying which mouse to devour first. Sure, in the grassy plains, there were all sorts of places to run, but Juju had no doubt the mechon would chase them down with little to no problems on its end. Or who knew? Maybe chasing them would work up its appetite.

Those red eyes took in him and Sharla, and Juju hardly dared to breathe. Then its head swiveled, and it looked at Reyn and Shulk. Inwardly, Juju was briefly relieved. Not to throw them under the buggy or anything, but he wanted to survive, and if one other person could survive this encounter, he wanted it to be Sharla.

Survival did tend to bring out peoples' true thoughts.

Its gaze remained on them, specifically Shulk, for a few seconds that seemed to stretch into hours.

Then… it spoke.

"I've been waiting for you, Monado boy." Its voice was gravelly and distinctly gleeful. It twisted its body and took a step toward Shulk and Reyn. "The way Metal Face scarpered," it went on, "I thought you'd have to be this big, scary monster. But look!" Its voice turned smug and dismissive. "You're just some pathetic little kid!"

It attacked. Reyn's shield went up to block a blow from its hammer, but the force was too much, and he went flying. There was a sickening crack as head met stone. Sharla burst forward, running straight into the fray.

Juju stood on the edge of it all. Mind in utter turmoil, he watched helplessly. The M71 had destroyed his only gun, and he seriously doubted a stray rock would do damage.

It didn't occur to him to escape.

That was a mistake. A really, _really_ big mistake.

Apparently bored from the attacks only dinging off its armor, the mechon turned its gaze his way. Its eyes gleamed with sadistic glee as it swiped the hammer in front of him, missing his nose by centimeters. Juju fell backwards, and scrambled away on his hands and butt.

Heart pounding, breath coming fast, and lost in his fear, he only vaguely realized that he'd peed his pants.

The mechon scooped him up, and brandished him like a prize. Its grip was fractionally lighter than the M71's. On some level in his mind, Juju wondered if that had to do with the M71 having pincers and not fingers.

"Juju!" Sharla cried out, reaching out in vain.

Shulk and Reyn rushed the mechon, but Juju only had eyes for Sharla. Horror, anger, regret, hurt, helplessness… it all amounted to the same thing: _devastation_.

Sharla had been a soldier too long not to realize the possibilities. No attack had an effect on this mechon's armor, not even the Monado could save Juju.

"Look like my time here is up," the mechon was saying. "If you want the brat back, you'd better come to Colony 6. But you'll have to be quick. I'm feeling hungry!" Its cackle shook through its entire body, rattling Juju around.

The mechon turned into flight mode, jets starting up.

Juju managed to wriggle an arm free and reach. "Sharla! _Sharla!"_ he screamed. " _No!"_

They took off. In a few seconds, they were miles out of sight.

Limply, he lowered his arm. His mouth opened and closed a few times in disbelief.

Sharla…

He banged his head on the mechon's knuckle.

It was official.

He was the worst brother _ever_.

* * *

 **\+ #6:**

Juju stood at a distance, watching Sharla stand over Gadolt's grave. Everyone else had dispersed more or less after the funeral service.

It was an empty casket in the ground; there was no body to bury. That had to hurt his sister deeply. It did for him.

Gadolt… had been the best person who walked into their lives since Juju was ten. At first, he remembered being so wary when Sharla and Gadolt started dating a year later. He never wanted to deal with another Frank again.

But Gadolt was different. The polar opposite of Sharla's ex. Gadolt, in general, was a quiet but intense man. He never called Juju 'champ' or 'squirt.' The blonde man called him 'kid,' but that was when Juju knew he had really messed up. No screaming, just stern talking. In fact, if Sharla and Gadolt _did_ disagree about something, it was the most civilized arguing ever. Juju had never heard the man raise his voice against his sister.

Gadolt changed Sharla. Gone was the drunk party girl, and Juju couldn't have been more relieved. She hardly ever touched alcohol anymore. If Juju ever saw a bottle of wine on the counter, it was for special occasions only, and Sharla usually gave her guests it or let her hosts keep it.

Gadolt _healed_ Sharla, helped pick her up so she could help herself.

Juju owed him so much.

Snow crunched under his feet as he approached.

Before the Reshaping, Colony 6 had typically seen tropical weather. Snow had been relatively rare, and nowadays, it was still a novelty to behold.

The black mourning clothes Sharla wore stood out starkly against the white backdrop. She looked like a stray shadow that lost its person. The overcast sky threatened more snow later. Whites, blacks, and grays made up the world.

"Hey," Juju mumbled, coming to a stop at her side.

Wordlessly, his sister wrapped an arm over his shoulders and pulled him close. Juju leaned in, eager to share warmth. As his mind cast around for something to say, Sharla finally spoke. "I'm going to miss him so much," she said softly.

"Me too. I was so excited to have him as part of the family."

Sharla shook her head. "He was already part of the family. Maybe not by blood, but…"

"In our hearts," Juju finished. His cheeks reddened even more. How corny was that?

But Sharla merely nodded in agreement, voice wistful. "Yes. Yes, he was."

Staring at Gadolt's tombstone gave Juju a surge of courage. He kept his eyes on the carefully etched name as he spoke. "I know I haven't been the best brother. Not after our parents died. But you were always, _always_ there for me." _Even when I wasn't there for you._ His eyes were blurring, warm tears teetering dangerously on his eyelids.

"Juju…" Sharla trailed off, clearly taken aback.

Juju forged on.

"I just… you're the strongest person I know. And…And I'm proud you're my sister. I know I don't say it a lot, but I love you. And even though we drive each other crazy sometimes, I'd rather die than trade you." His voice broke.

Sharla knelt down and hugged him fiercely. Juju reflexively wound his arms around her just as tightly.

"What makes you think I'd let you die on my watch?" she hissed. Then her voice softened. "You have no idea how much that means to me, Juju," she whispered. "I love you so much. More than anything."

"I wish Mum and Dad were here," he mumbled, sniffling.

"But they _are_ here." Sharla pulled away, and placed one hand on his chest and the other on his forehead. "They live on in our hearts and memories. Just like Gadolt."

Juju let that sink in. Then he smiled deviously. "Do you remember the time Gadolt took us both to the shooting range, and collapsed after making all of his shots?"

"I knew he'd been sick, but even with a high fever, he was still determined to make us practice." Sharla shook her head in exasperation. "I practically had to tie him to the bed to get him to rest!"

"I bet he liked that," he said slyly.

"Juju!" Sharla's cheeks reddened. She smacked him upside the head.

Rubbing his head, Juju laughed. It felt good, the first real laugh he had in weeks. "You were so worried about him! You kept running around like a chicken with its head cut off. All poor Gadolt wanted were cuddles."

"He did become more affectionate when he was sick," Sharla admitted fondly.

"Sharla and Gadolt sitting in a tree," Juju sang. "K-I-S-S-I-N… Gah!"

His sister had shifted him to a gentle choke hold, and proceeded to give him a noogie. "As I recall," Sharla began, laughing. "You were so excited about learning how to shoot. You'd beg Gadolt to teach you all the time. And when we _did_ get to the range, you nearly shot Otharon in the foot!"

"He got in the way," Juju grumbled, wriggling out of her hold with some difficulty. A grin stretched his lips ear-to-ear. "Hey, do you remember when-"

And that's how they spent the next few hours, talking and laughing about their shared memories. Somehow, Juju felt like Gadolt would've wanted this. Happiness, the will to keep going. And as he bantered with Sharla, he could've sworn Gadolt was with them at that very moment, eyes gentle like they always were when the three of them were in private. He'd ruffle Juju's hair and smile at Sharla, and everything would be alright.

When the sky turned darker, and its clouds released a light flurry of snowflakes, Juju knew they had to go soon or risk turning into icicles. Sharla clearly reached the same conclusion.

"We should head back," she said, glancing at the sky. Then she looked at Gadolt's grave as if memorizing it. With a sigh, Sharla stood and held out a hand. Juju took it and was tugged to his feet.

"Wait!" he said, reaching into his jacket. "Before we go, I wanted to give you this." He produced a bundle and handed it over.

Sharla took one look at it and gasped. "Oakley!" She looked between him and the stuffed dog, and seemed at a loss for words. "What…How…?"

"I patched him up as best I could." Juju rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "You can obviously see the thread, but the leg isn't coming off again anytime soon."

"I thought I'd lost him forever," Sharla whispered. She examined the dog closely. "I didn't know you could sew."

"Reyn taught me."

" _Reyn_ taught you?"

"Yeah," Juju laughed. "Surprised me too. You can interrogate him when we get back." He was suddenly nervous. "Sorry for ripping him when we were little."

"You remember that?" Sharla asked, surprised.

"It's one of my earlies memories." He didn't mention that he still remembered what Sharla had said before she ran away for the day. He also didn't mention that those words had haunted him for several years. If Sharla wanted to bring it up, Juju would allow it, but he wasn't voluntarily touching that can of worms with a ten foot pole.

Some things could stay in the past.

His sister gave him a one-armed hug. "Thank you, Juju. He's beautiful." She looked at Oakley thoughtfully. Then she knelt down, and carefully placed him on the grave, arranging his body to sit up and lean against the tombstone. "Gadolt loved dogs. We were going to adopt one when we got married. It was going to be a surprise for you." Sharla sighed. "I think we should give Oakley to him, what do you think?"

"I think that's a great idea," Juju managed to get out, throat impossibly tight.

Sharla lightly traced the letters on the tombstone. "I love you, Gadolt," she murmured. "Be at peace now."

She stood up and brushed the snow off her pants. When she turned to face Juju, she had a contented expression. There were still traces of sadness in her eyes, but her features were mostly calm. Peaceful even. She took him by the hand, and began leading him back to the colony.

Juju noticed that she didn't look back once.

Somehow relieved, he squeezed her hand. She squeezed back immediately. And they didn't let go. For their bond was tightly sewn like the threads holding a well-loved and worn stuffed animal together.


	14. Chapter 14

I feel like Mushu from _Mulan_ when he screams, "I LIVE!" Lol. Sorry for the wait, guys.

 **Notes** \- So this prompt is going to be at least a two-part story. I'm still working on the other half. Also, battle scenes. We had a tiny one in _Kindergarten_ with Dickson. Now it's time to step it up a notch.

little miss saigon: Is it bad to admit that I teared up in certain places as well? And listening to _What a Catch Donnie?_ That's like double whammy. I'm glad it was on "fleek" (I didn't know that was an actual word :). Thanks for reviewing!

OnePirateWolf96: Thank you! Siblings can be quite the handful. Also, Reyn sewing? Totally going to be explained later, so look forward to that sometime in the future :) Thanks for reviewing!

P.T. Piranha: I like Juju, so it was actually fun to write from his perspective. To be honest, I like all of the characters. Even ones I know I shouldn't (looks guiltily at Mumkhar and Zanza). As for Colony 6 details, there may be a few things I twisted or made up, but it was mainly to keep the story flowing. I think the only non-voice-acted NPC I mentioned was Arda. Frank and Gareth were just OCs. On a side note, there's an eight year age difference between Sharla and Juju in-game, so Sharla would've been eleven in the first vignette. Not much of a toddler. But yeah... Thanks for the review!

Guest: I think it's a matter of preference. Some people like more of a prose flavor. I'll take what you say into consideration though. I've been rereading older chapters, and I was thinking that once I hit a further chapter like 50 or something, I'll go back and edit a few things. But thank you for the review! I appreciate it. :)

NictheWerecatqueen: It was a pleasure to write. Thanks for the review!

SubZeroChimera: Juju was interesting to explore in that prompt. I could've written from Sharla's perspective, but then we wouldn't get to see a younger sibling's inner struggle to comfort the older. It's definitely an odd feeling for some, almost like a twilight zone. Nevertheless, thanks for reviewing!

Guest: I'm glad people are in-character. It's nice to be part of a smaller fandom too. It feels a lot more friendly. As for Shulk and Melia well... I've been eyeballing this prompt for them for what feels like ages so this was conveniently timed! :) I had to do a lot of research on this one! Thanks so much for your review!

Someguycalledgoober: Everything comes back to Oakley. He is supreme ruler of all ;) Thanks for the review and the Favorite!

And thank you Nentendo Girl106734, Brend839, donalladd15, EspurrTheGreat, kenkel98, PurplePoltergeist, SapphireDragon, melancholyvivace, dqbsurf, pikachuevolves34, U-Mad Max, and ryuseikari for the Favorites and/or Follows!

Enjoy!

* * *

417\. Under pressure (Shulk and Melia)

 **Part 1**

Inhale. Exhale.

Melia pressed her back hard against the wall of Junks; it was the only way to keep her legs steady beneath her. She stared at her feet, vaguely thinking the white heeled shoes a strange and stark contrast of the dark steel floor. Her fingers scrambled on the wall in a futile attempt to find any sort of purchase as her head pulsed oddly.

Inhale. Exhale.

Luckily, the hall was empty. Every Machina were at their stations, pushing Junks to its speed limits. Linada and Sharla were still in the medical bay, frantically trying to stabilize Shulk. Outside of the room, she knew Reyn was pacing while Riki stood uncharacteristically forlorn. Fiora sat against the wall opposite of the operating room, staring intently at the sliding door as if the sheer force of her will could bring Shulk through his pain. Dunban sat beside her as a faithful shadow.

Meanwhile, Melia had stood on the edge of everything looking on. There was nothing she could've said. Words were hollow. If someone broke the silence, shattered the time freeze they were under, she knew Reyn would've exploded.

Inhale. Exhale.

She had finally slipped away from the others when Fiora reached for her brother, and Dunban responded immediately, putting his arms around her. She left because she feared her jealousy would show.

 _I should've known Lorithia was a traitor._

There were a lot of things she should've known. Primarily ones concerning the High Entia. It was clear that Kallian had known. She deduced that the information was a royal family secret. But why hadn't she been informed? Had Father ever planned on telling her? Or had she been kept in the dark due to her mixed-heritage?

Either way, her father had taken what he knew to the grave.

Regret sliced through her, and Melia knuckled her chest as if she could soothe the mixture of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

The hall suddenly became cramped and claustrophobic.

Melia pushed off the wall, and walked out onto the deck of Junks. Wind whipped through her hair and wings, and briefly stole her breath. She crossed the deck, and stood near the edge. Looking out, she watched the Bionis move its earthy limbs. Melia had always known the Bionis was enormous, but flying on Junks made her realize just how tiny and weak they were compared to the titan.

Insignificant.

Melia crossed her arms in a self-hug. It was a poor substitute. Dunban holding Fiora flitted in her mind's eye. She wanted the same comfort. She wanted to feel arms around her, a cheek on her head, and a litany of indistinguishable phrases. But she dared not ask. It didn't feel proper. And if she was completely honest with herself, it wasn't _their_ comfort she sought.

The landscape blurred, covered by a screen of tears.

She wanted Kallian. Her brother always knew what to say or do. Affection like hugs had become scarcer as she grew older, but he still knew how to cheer her up or when to give advice. He just _knew_.

And now he was gone.

But Melia wouldn't – _couldn't_ \- acknowledge that right now.

The cold air helped her compartmentalize her feelings. She would come back to them. Just…not… _now_.

Physically numb, Melia hugged herself harder, nails digging into her sides.

They were flying over the Bionis's right arm, and yellow light drew her attention down.

Not for the first time did she wonder how entire ecosystems would change as a result of the Bionis moving. Would earthquakes become a common occurrence? Were any monster species wiped out? If so, which ones and why? These questions would've set off countless scholarly debates back in Alcamoth. The endless possibilities seemed vast and foreign. Melia took comfort in the familiar yellow glow of Valak Mountain so far below. It even tugged a small smile from her.

Some things would never change.

But she couldn't know.

For deep beneath the snow, stone, and cement of Valak Mountain, _it_ was jostled awake. Red eyes slit open. It moved its head to stretch, but stopped. Icy earth packed its limbs tight to its body. There was no give to its chains. Another rumble shook the ground as the Bionis moved once more, rattling its very being to the bone. Familiar anger lit up its gullet, building into blistering rage. Each scale lit up with a luminous red-orange glow as it snarled, Hellfire building within its throat.

 _Klaus…_ Another movement from the titan.

The chains loosened.

* * *

The day was ironically cheerful, Melia decided as she walked amongst the stalls of Colony 6. The sun shone bright and strong above their heads. Light wisps of wind gave brief respite against the heat. Not a cloud marred the deep blue sky.

It was undoubtedly a perfect day.

Much of Colony 6 would disagree, however.

A strange stillness overcame its residents. Rarely did anyone walk alone anymore. Children were ushered indoors as quickly as possible. Adults kept their heads down, and talked in low tones. If one person's voice rose, they'd get shushed by their neighbor. No one wanted to look up and acknowledge the Bionis's movements.

Ignorance was bliss after all.

Melia giggled. She couldn't help it.

Whoever had come up with that phrase must have died a really horrific death.

Her amusement earned a curious glance from Riki. The Nopon didn't bounce alongside her, but merely walked. That alone told Melia much and more about his feelings. Even so, the smile that stretched across his face was genuine. "What Melly thinking?" he asked. "Riki want to know joke!"

Her stomach lurched. "It was nothing really. Just a passing thought." She returned his smile with a strained one then hurried forward. "Reyn," she called. "What's next on the list?"

The redhead didn't respond. He walked ahead of them with his head ducked and his hands crammed in his pant pockets. Melia came up beside him, and lightly touched his arm. He startled badly. The muscles in his arm tensed as his head swerved her way. Eyes dark in anger, his glare shriveled her confidence, and her hand retracted reflexively.

An apology bubbled in her throat, but her vocal cords refused to work. Melia had seen Reyn angry before; the stars knew Riki annoyed him plenty of times, and their antics never failed to make someone laugh, but this was different. Gone was the comical anger, replaced by something rawer as he loomed over her.

"Big Hom Hom leave Melly alone!" Riki bulldozed straight into the back of Reyn's legs.

Reyn stumbled forward, and barely managed to keep his balance. His hand lashed out and caught Riki by the tuft. "Oi! What was that for, cheeseball?" he demanded, hoisting the squirming Nopon up.

"Reyn acting like dumb smelly Orluga!" Riki spat back.

"What makes you say that?!"

"Reyn scare Melly!"

Reyn's head turned to look over his shoulder. Too late did Melia think to school her features; Reyn took in her frozen stance, and whatever he saw in her expression made his eyes flicker with guilt. He took a step toward her, and though Melia didn't back away, she folded her arms over her chest. Luckily, he caught the silent message and stopped. Running his free hand through his hair, he opened his mouth then closed it. Finally, he sighed and half-turned away, placing Riki down.

"What did you say before, Melia?" Reyn asked gruffly.

"I…" she cleared her throat. "I wanted to know what was next on the list."

The redhead shoved a hand into a pant pocket and rooted around in it. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, and smoothed it out. He squinted. "Cleaning oil for Dunban's sword, books for Sharla-"

"And big fish for Riki!" Riki chimed in.

"That's not on the list!"

"Plans change. Riki want big fish!"

Reyn crushed the list as he clenched his fists. Crouching down, he knuckled the Nopon's head. "If you want it so bad, then get it yourself," Reyn snapped. He stood and stalked off.

Their outburst and brief scuffle had drawn onlookers. None were particularly friendly. Melia ducked her head, and did her best to ignore them as she knelt next to Riki. The Nopon rubbed his head, making his tuft even wilder. "Are you alright, Riki?" Melia murmured, mindful of her volume.

"Heropon should ask Melly that! Not other way!"

Melia pressed her trembling hands tightly against her thighs. "I am unharmed." It wasn't a lie. Reyn didn't lay a hand on her. And already she was inwardly berating herself for being frightened, no matter how briefly.

"Reyn treat Melly bad," Riki insisted. "Friend should not do that."

"He didn't mean it." Melia was certain of it. "Reyn is merely…uneasy from Linada's news." She had to force those last two words out. Linada's latest update on Shulk made her stomach tighten into a ball of knots just thinking about it.

Shulk's heart had stopped. Twice. Linada and Sharla managed to resuscitate him a third time, but shock had driven the blonde into a deep sleep that Linada termed coma. It wasn't certain whether he would wake up or not.

Reyn, along with Fiora, spent the majority of his time by his friend's side. Except for bathroom breaks, he rarely left. Sharla had eventually pulled Melia aside, and asked her to take Reyn out for fresh air on the pretext of a shopping trip. Dark bags hung under the healer's eyes. Melia only agreed on the condition that Sharla took a nap before she collapsed.

Reyn's protests had dwindled into a sullen silence, and it was so uncharacteristic that Melia had been relieved when Riki volunteered to go as well.

"Everyone has bad days," she concluded.

"Still not right." Riki shook his head adamantly.

"Maybe not," Melia admitted. "But under the circumstances, it's understandable."

Riki searched her face with a strange intensity. It reminded her of how a father would look at a child, possibly a daughter-

Abruptly, she stood and began walking. It wasn't the same direction Reyn had taken, but Melia didn't particularly care. Riki called her name. The concern made her shoulders hunch, and her strides lengthen. Little patters of feet hurried after her, but Melia sped up until she was nearly running.

"Melly! Bird Lady!"

Childishly, she clasped her hands over her ears. _Stop, just stop. Leave me alone, please, just leave me be._

The vendors and their stalls blurred as she ran, paying little attention to the people who leapt out of her way. She swerved around corners, ducked into alleys, and ran and ran and ran. Her wings fluttered uselessly under her headdress. _I wish I could fly. Fly high, so very high._

Buildings gave way to trees, and stone turned to grass underfoot.

Finally, Melia had to stop and breathe. Hands on her knees, she panted heavily.

Her mind caught up with her actions, and the sudden sense of ridiculousness that overcame her was overwhelming. Hands clenched into fists as shame turned into anger. Running away? Since when had she become a fledgling? There was no excuse for her behavior.

Straightening, she looked around. No sign of Riki. If she had to guess, Melia would say she was in the southeast portion of the colony. The scent of freshly grown grass wafted her way as a breeze ruffled her hair. Benches ran along the side of the path. A half-erected playground stood two yards away, its odds and ends accumulated through scavenging.

She was alone.

Without children, the playground seemed more than just empty. It looked abandoned and sad. Imagination would bring it to life. But its usual visitors were locked up tight in their homes. It was funny in a way. The playground was no safer than any house in the residential district, but adults would use their own form of imagination to pretend otherwise.

Something small and hard bumped against her ankle. Melia nearly jumped out of her skin. A wooden ball that could fit neatly into the palm of her hand lay beside her feet innocently. Melia blinked. Her eyes traced the invisible path the ball must've rolled before slowly sweeping up.

A male fledgling, no older than forty years, stood across the path. Turquoise eyes glowed faintly, marking him as pure-blooded. In High Entia culture, it is said that the Bionis's blood flows strongly in those of pure heritage. Their ethereal glow signified their favoritism and superiority out of all the races. After her biological mother passed away, it slowly and painfully became clear that Yumea would never love or accept her due to her mixed heritage. She wasn't pure; she was filthy. For that reason, Melia used to resent her brother.

But now…looking into the boy's eyes, Melia felt sick to her stomach. A wave of pity hit her hard. The boy before her wasn't blessed, but cursed by the blood that flowed in his veins. High Entia were merely pets to be used and discarded at the will of Zanza.

The surrealism of her lifetime views being flipped upside down made her clench the back of a bench to keep from falling down.

She was snapped from her reverie when the boy smiled mischievously and gestured towards himself, the wings on his head twitching.

Blinking away the wetness that pricked her eyes, Melia bent down and retrieved the ball. "Is this yours?" she asked, straightening. The boy's smile only grew wider. It was rather infectious, and despite herself, Melia's lips tugged up in a small smile. "Here," she said, extending the toy.

The boy made no move to get it.

Melia took a step forward, and the boy took one step back. She tried again only to have the same result. The boy's smile never wavered. Melia paused in confusion. "Do you not want it back?" she asked him.

Instead of responding, he made another gesture. Studying it carefully, Melia realized he wanted her to do. She bent down, and rolled it. The boy clapped once, and snatched it up. A tiny giggle escaped her at his joyous expression. She waved at him, and turned to go.

The ball bumped into her leg again.

Frowning, Melia picked it up and turned back to the boy. He was gone. She looked around. Further on by the slide, she saw him with his back to her. She set the ball down, and gave it a good push. It parted the grass rapidly, and bumped the boy in the ankle. He jumped, a giggle escaping him. Melia let out a little laugh herself. Revenge was sweet.

He turned towards her, grin growing even wider, and their impromptu game began.

Back and forth they rolled the ball. They used the entirety of the playground. Melia feinted right then sent the ball left, making the boy scramble after it. His grin never faded as they played. It was refreshing to say the least. Even though he was surrounded by so much fear and distress, he still managed to smile in the face of it all.

 _I bet I can wipe that smile away. If he knew-_

Melia shoved that dark thought aside and refocused on the game. Riki would've loved playing. That made her pause. Guilt rose in her throat. She looked around uncertainly. Was he looking for her now?

Knowing Riki, he was.

When the ball came her way again, she plucked it off the ground and held it out. "I apologize, but I'm afraid I must go."

The boy tilted his head; Melia found him hard to read. Was he confused about the abrupt end to their game or merely disappointed? She couldn't tell. It unnerved her to a degree.

"Here." She rolled it, and turned on her heel.

One step hadn't been taken before the ball collided with her legs again. Facing the boy, she crossed her arms. "I have to get back to my friends." His smile faded a little. Melia softened her tone. "We can play later," she promised.

He gestured at the ball. She obligingly picked it up. Before she could give it back, he held up his hand then made a shooing motion. "You want me to keep it?" Melia asked slowly.

The boy nodded. He cupped one hand as if he were holding the ball. With his other hand, he made a twisting motion as if opening a jar. Melia understood. She held the ball up for closer inspection. Nothing visibly stood out. She smoothed the pad of her thumb over the wood, and felt the tiny line that divided the ball in two halves.

Firmly holding the ball with both hands, she unscrewed the top off.

A folded piece of paper lay inside. Melia glanced at the boy. He merely smiled. She turned back to the paper and unfolded it.

 _Lady Melia,_

 _Time is short, and the danger grows. Not every High Entia has met their end. I have information. Go to Talonyth's restaurant as soon as you get this. Tell him "the bird has flown the coop." Come alone. This is for your ears only._

Eyes narrowed. Melia swung her head up sharply. "Who are you-?" she trailed off.

The boy was gone.

* * *

This was a trap.

Melia stood across the street from the proposed meeting place with only her thoughts to keep her company. She brushed her fingers along the Imperial Staff. The feel of it was still unfamiliar, but the weight was reassuring. It was almost as if Father and Kallian were here-

She strode purposely towards the restaurant, chin held high as her teeth grit together.

The bell above the door tinkled as she entered. It occurred to her that she'd never been inside before. Wooden tables and chairs lined the cobbled walls. In the middle of the dining floor was a pit where people could sit around a fire brazier.

Faint embers licked the coals when Melia wandered over to inspect it. The smoke gave off a pleasant lemony smell, and she realized suddenly that it was laced with spices from Alcamoth. _Home. It smells like Home._

"A customer?" someone gasped behind her.

She whipped around. The High Entia male, Talonyth she presumed, looked very out of place as he gaped at her. His wing tips extended past his shoulder blades, and his long gray hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. The formal black uniform he wore was at odds with the cozy atmosphere.

"Hello," she greeted him hesitantly.

Her voice seemed to snap him out of his reverie. "A customer!" he cried out joyously, clapping his hands together. Then, abruptly, he was all poise. He bowed, and held his hand out. Melia took it, and was treated to a proficient hand kiss. "My lady," he said, drawing her away from the pit. "I must beg forgiveness for my inexcusable laziness. I will have the fire going and get you a menu."

"Oh, there is no need-"

"Nonsense!" He rooted around behind the host's podium. "Would you prefer a seat close to the fire or by a window?"

"Actually," Melia began, heart pounding. "I'd like a seat where the bird has flown the coop."

She didn't know what she expected. He didn't freeze up, didn't reflexively glance her way, or didn't even give a nod to show he'd heard. He just kept shuffling through different leather-bound menus, muttering to himself. Just as she was debating whether or not to repeat herself, Talonyth straightened. "Here we are!" he exclaimed.

He gave her a menu then placed his hand on the small of her back, steering her past the fire pit and the tables by the windows. They came to a door on the far side of the bar. He left her side to hold the door open. Inside was a staircase. "Upstairs, second room on the right, my lady," he said breezily. His face held no deception.

Melia cautiously entered the room. As soon as she crossed the threshold, Talonyth closed the door behind her. With one hand on the Imperial Staff, she ascended the stairs. It was a clever rendezvous location. She didn't have any delusions about sneaking up on this informant; the stairs creaked loudly enough to announce her arrival.

There was a short, narrow strip of hallway when she reached the top. Six rooms total, three on each side. One had to be Talonyth's quarters, another a bathroom, and the other four possibly guest rooms. Melia paused at the second room on the right, hand on the knob. Steeling herself, she entered.

The room was sparsely furnished. A bed and dresser took up the bulk of the room in opposite corners. An ether lamp rested on a table, throwing weird shadows across the walls. The curtains were drawn.

The room was empty.

Melia frowned. Did Talonyth give her the wrong room? Her eyes roved around the space uncertainly.

From the shadows emerged a hooded figure, and Melia had to fight down a flinch. Her hand tightened on the doorknob instead.

"Thank you for coming Lady Melia," the figure said.

Melia's eyes widened. She recognized that voice. "You!" she gasped.

The female lowered her hood. Dark gray hair had been carefully brushed away from a narrow face. Her usual green headdress highlighted the green in her turquoise eyes. She loosely crossed her arms; Melia identified the self-hug.

"You…you were Moth- _Yumea's_ handmaid."

"I was," the female acknowledged. She smiled wryly. "I'm a bit out of a job now, aren't I?"

Melia couldn't believe it. "You were brought in for questioning!"

Her smile faded. "I was released. They couldn't link me to the Bionite Order." She gestured vaguely. "I thought a change in scenery was necessary."

" _They_ couldn't link you to the Order, but you don't deny that you were part of it?" The resulting silence was all the confirmation Melia needed. She blew out her breath slowly and spoke through grit teeth. "Give me _one_ reason I shouldn't walk out right now."

The female watched her quietly. "I know you are fair," she said finally. "You won't leave before you hear me out. I will not lie to you. There is too much at stake." She took a seat at the table, and gestured to the chair opposite. "So please."

Slowly, so very slowly, Melia let her death grip on the doorknob relax. She closed the door behind her, and took the three steps needed to reach the chair. Jerkily, she placed her menu on the table and sat down. "What information do you have for me…?" Melia trailed off. Faint embarrassment prickled her skin.

The female understood. "Oh," she chuckled and shook her head in wonderment. "In all those years, I never introduced myself." She placed a hand on her chest. "Nymira, if it pleases my lady."

"Well _Nymira_ ," Melia stressed, testing the name out. "I repeat, what information do you have for me?"

Nymira reached into her left sleeve –Melia tensed- and pulled out a slip of paper. She placed it on the table and withdrew her hand. Warily, Melia accepted the slip and studied it. "Coordinates?"

"For Valak Mountain," Nymira confirmed.

"Why?"

Nymira loosely folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. "Do you know the creed of the Bionite Order?"

The memory came to her murkily, a history lesson from so long ago. "What is born of the Bionis is returned to the Bionis."

"Precisely. From the moment a new member is initiated, they are trained to obey and uphold the creed. Failure is not an option. For the first few centuries, the Order was content with their simplicity."

"You mean killing anyone who would not follow their faith," Melia cut in sharply. " _Your_ faith."

"I do not condone the Order's past actions," Nymira said quietly. "Nor am I an actual member. You learn a lot from the sidelines as no one pays attention to the servant."

"Why didn't you report this? You would have had imperial protection."

The older female shrugged, eyes slipping to a point beyond Melia's shoulder. "Lady Yumea was kind to me. Not all the time, mind you, but she took me in and gave me a job. Perhaps it was gratitude that prompted my silence. Maybe misplaced loyalty in the creed. Not every member thirsts for bloodshed. When Lumian the 47th Emperor disbanded the Order, members fought amongst themselves. A fraction had doubts about fulfilling their ultimate destiny. They wanted to survive the cycle of rebirth, carry on so the Lord Creator always had loyal servants. A backup plan was hatched so to speak." She gestured to the coordinates.

"A hiding place," Melia murmured, looking at the numbers with new eyes. "Valak Mountain is known to be a harsh environment. Raw ether deposits are rare." She met Nymira's gaze. "Why are you giving me this?"

"I want you to bring them here."

"So the Bionite Order can flourish once more?"

"No." Nymira shook her head confidently. "This faction can be reasoned with."

"How can you be certain?" Melia challenged.

"My brother is the leader of the evacuation."

That pulled Melia up short. "Brother?" she asked ever-so-softly.

"No one in the Order knew about Lorithia's surprise ether attack, and if they did, they've most likely transformed by now. My brother was in Alcamoth when the attack took place. I'm hoping he made it out with whomever he could round up." Her voice broke slightly. "Lady Melia, I beg of you, this is my last hope. I- _we_ just want him to come back."

 _Oh._ "The little boy," Melia whispered. She clutched the Imperial Staff harder until it warmed under her grip, charged by the tumult of emotion.

"His name is Lucan," Nymira said with a sad smile. "My brother is his father."

A lump took up residence in Melia's throat as the boy's smile and laugh darted through her mind. "Where is he now?" she asked.

"Outside playing. He was practically bouncing off the walls this morning. He has so much energy, sometimes it's hard keeping up."

"He's very energetic," Melia agreed.

"I wish he could find a friend." Nymira's gaze darkened. "Everyone is afraid."

"Well, it's understandable. The Bionis has reawakened and-"

"I'm not talking about the Bionis," she cut in curtly.

It took a moment, but then Melia understood. "You cannot mean-"

" _They_ are terrified of him because he's a pureblood," Nymira spat. "The High Entia have been shunned and ostracized because the residents here are afraid we will transform."

"But there is no high concentration of ether here," Melia protested, wings twitching in agitation. "And not every refugee is pureblood."

"Try telling _them_ that! Talonyth is near bankruptcy because no one will chance it." She took a deep breath and continued quietly, "No one should be treated like they're inferior. I understand that now. I don't want them to be afraid. For Lucan's sake as well as every surviving High Entia's. So I ask again, will you help us?"

The silence stretched. Melia closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She already knew her answer. Exhaling, she opened her eyes. "I will help. You have my word."

* * *

Dark clouds buried the stars as Melia hurried back to Junks. The messenger bag Nymira had given her bounced on her hip with every step. She would have to tighten the strap before she reached Valak Mountain. Within it were basic food and water supplies, along with a small first-aid kit. The coordinates were kept in her pocket, and every minute, her hand would flit over them to make sure the slip of paper hadn't disappeared.

When she finally reached the Machina airship, she paused to catch her breath. Hopefully Vanea was still on duty; she was the only one Melia trusted not to balk at her request.

Straightening, Melia relaxed her shoulders, and stepped onto the deck.

"It's a little late for a stroll, don't you think?"

Melia nearly jumped out of her skin. "Dunban!" she gasped. "Don't _do_ that!"

Under the overhang, the swordsman pushed off the wall. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's quite alright," Melia said somewhat stiffly.

"Everyone was worried," Dunban said lightly. "Riki and Reyn searched the entire colony twice."

Guilt prickled through her. Eyes dropping, she loosely crossed her arms. She would beg their forgiveness for her childish behavior, she decided.

When she didn't respond, Dunban took a step closer, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Is everything alright?" His hand was warm.

Melia turned away, brushing off his gesture. "I'm alright. I merely ran into a…an acquaintance. She has a problem, and I told her I would help."

"Do you need assistance?"

She paused. Truthfully, backup hadn't been something that crossed her mind until now. Shulk was obviously out of the question. Sharla was needed here. She wouldn't ask Fiora or Reyn to come; that'd be too cruel. If Shulk didn't make it –Melia cringed- then the both of them would need all the support they could get, so Dunban wasn't an option either. All that left was Riki, and while Melia loved the Nopon to pieces, she wanted him to stay too. If anyone could brighten someone's day, it was Riki.

Nymira was also quite firm about keeping quiet about the mission. Melia trusted her friends, and yet… she still hesitated. Asking for help wasn't something she was used to. Growing up, people had already perceived her differently due to her mixed heritage, so she never wanted to give them reason to think lesser of her. She either figured things out or she suffered in silence. It had always been that way.

Habits were difficult to break.

In the end, Melia shook her head. "I don't need help." It came out a lot more stubborn than she'd intended.

"Are you sure?"

The inner conflict poked at her conscious. Melia slapped it back down, and pursed her lips. "I can do it," she snapped. Without waiting for Dunban's response, she turned on her heel and entered Junks. She strode down the hallway into the control center. Miqol and Vanea were both there, talking quietly.

Miqol, upon seeing her, broke off from whatever he'd been saying. "Melia," he greeted. "How may I be of service?"

She straightened. "I'm sorry to intrude, but may I speak to Vanea in private?"

Vanea looked at her curiously then glanced at her father. Miqol waved her off. "We can discuss it later." He turned his massive metal body to look out the window, obviously lost in thought. Vanea sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. She signaled for Melia to follow her.

They exited the control room, and headed up the ramp to the second floor. As they passed Shulk's room, Melia hesitated.

"There's been no change," Vanea said, coming to a stop beside her. "His vitals are stable, but he-"

"Won't wake up," Melia finished. She forced her body to move on, hands clenching.

Vanea led her into a room two doors down. "Is here alright?"

"Perfect," she affirmed. A frown tugged her lips. "I didn't mean to interrupt you and your father."

"There's no need to apologize," Vanea said, waving her hand. She hesitated briefly before continuing, "We were discussing funeral plans."

"Funeral?"

"For Egil."

"Oh," Melia breathed. There wasn't much else to say.

"I know his motives and means were questionable, but-"

"He's your brother."

"Well yes, I-"

Melia held up a hand. "You don't need to defend him. He's family. I understand." _So, so much._ "It's wrong of me to keep you, but I…I have a request."

* * *

Everything was nice and warm. He huddled deeper into himself as he drifted. His limbs were loose and numb. A hollow pulse took up residence in his head. Something was nagging him; a thought struggled to get loose. It felt urgent, important somehow. He whined. He just wanted to stay in his cocoon a little while longer. Five more minutes wasn't so much to ask for, was it? Still, the feeling of urgency persisted.

Shulk looked up from his knees.

And stared.

Stars, millions upon billions of stars littered the black abyss. With a vague start, Shulk realized he was floating. But that wasn't quite the case. Rocks of all different sizes and shapes drifted by him, but he remained firmly in place. "Where am I?"

His voice echoed and faded.

Then it all came rushing back. Stark memory of sharp pain lingered in his body where a small metal bullet had torn through flesh, muscle, and bits of bone. He knuckled his chest absently. _Dickson…shot me…then…_ peeling, sucking sensation like a person emerging from water. But it wasn't Shulk. _Zanza._

"Oh," he mumbled. "So I'm…" A chuckle escaped him. Then another. And another. They escalated into howls of laughter bordering hysteria. Shulk couldn't help himself. It was just so _damn funny_.

He drew his knees close as his guffaws dwindled into snickers. Lips stretched wide in a wry smile, and he shook his head. "What was I doing? What was the _purpose_ of my life?"

Revenge. For Fiora. For Colony 6. For the Emperor. For every single person who had their lives ruined by Mechon. It always came back to _revenge_. But somewhere along the way, it all changed. Amongst the tumult of emotions when he realized Fiora was Silver Face, there had been a spark of curiosity. Upon meeting Egil for the first time at Valak Mountain, it grew into a burning, nagging puzzlement. A yearning to know more, to understand _why_.

Then he did find out. But at what cost? He could visualize his friends waiting for him. Reyn with his impatient arm roll, Dunban with his good arm always resting on the hilt of his sword, Riki bouncing up and down, Sharla with her calloused hands, Melia with her shy not-quite-there smile, and-and…

Playful green eyes attached to a surprisingly unmarred face that he just wanted to touch to make sure she was there and alive and _not dead_ -

"No." He lowered his arm. "I've got it wrong." How could he reach for something that never existed in the first place? His breath came in shallow pants as the cold, cold implications of his situation finally sank in. "I was never alive. It was Zanza! All along! I…" He crushed his knees to his chest as he rocked himself. "Everything I did was…"

"Do you want to say… 'pointless'?"

His head shot up at the familiar voice. A light appeared. Like a curtain, it parted the darkness with a multitude of muted colors. "Nobody else can decide that," said Alvis as he stepped through into the abyss. Shulk rose to his feet as the Seer approached. "Only you."

There was a beat of silence that seemed to stretch as endlessly as this strange world. Shulk had so many questions. However, before he could voice any of them, Alvis gestured him forward.

Taking the first step felt like sloshing through knee high mud. His body didn't want to move from its spot.

 _You'll fall,_ his mind whispered cruelly. _There's nothing holding you up anymore._

Shulk kept his eyes focused on Alvis. It helped the nausea. When his foot came down, it connected with what felt like a solid path.

He didn't look down to check.

After that, the air became heavier, and his chest felt congested. Still he struggled forward. Alvis never offered him help, only looked on passively. Always an observer. In this case, Shulk was semi-grateful. He wanted – _needed_ \- to do this by himself. _Learn to hold yourself up. That's it. One foot after the other._

By the time he took four steps, he was exhausted. His limbs trembled from the pressure, head bowed low. His heart threatened to give out. But he made it. The purple jacket he clutched in white-knuckled hands proved it. Shulk looked up at Alvis and grinned tiredly.

A side of the Seer's lips briefly quirked up in what could've been a smile. His fingers pressed against Shulk's temple.

And the path disappeared from beneath him, and he was falling…

…Until he felt a jerk in his navel like a rope going taut. He looked around. A gray, rippling landscape stretched before him. _A vision?_ It wasn't a normal one. The gale of icy wind testified to that. Snow fell in light flurries and he shivered.

Someone ran past him.

The moment Shulk realized it was Melia, an enormous shadow raced overhead. It wasn't shaped like any monster he'd seen before. He looked up-

-And felt a tug in his navel.

Jagged rock scraped his palms as he pressed against a cave wall. The air reeked of some noxious fume he couldn't place. The ground reverberated every few seconds like someone pounding a drum. Melia sat on her knees a few feet away. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. She slowly stood up as a section of the cave ruptured. Shulk glimpsed red eyes and a long snout just as the world was engulfed in flame.

Burning flesh invaded his nostrils. Heat lapped at his clothes and skin. Was…was he burning? Where was Melia? _Where was she?_

Two shadowy figures walked in the flames. One was significantly taller than the other, its body strangely shaped. The smaller one held a staff- _Melia_. With Vanea. But…why…? They were at Colony 6, or at least the area around it. But Shulk could vaguely make out Melia's crumpled form in the cave. Melia stepped on her own body as she talked to Vanea. The two visions overlapped, intertwining so tightly that Shulk felt nauseous.

A charred face rose from the ashes, both cheeks peeling and dangling as the skin melted.

Melia smiled directly at him.

Then the cave collapsed in on itself.

* * *

The first thing Shulk did when he woke up was puke. He rolled on his side, and heaved the meager contents of his stomach onto the floor. _Melia!_ The thought drove him to sit up, and the resulting dizziness nearly made him fall off whatever table-like surface he was on. Eyes squeezing shut, he firmly ignored it, and swung his legs over.

Sharp pain ripped through his chest. He stumbled into the wall upon standing, fingers scrabbling for purchase. Goosebumps rose on his bare arms, and he belatedly realized he was shirtless. Bandages wrapped around his chest and over his left shoulder. A small red blob leaked through. But that wasn't important. _Melia. I need to find Melia._ Blearily, Shulk looked around the room, and spotted his sweater and red vest folded neatly on another table. He dragged himself over and slowly and painfully pulled them both on.

Black spots appeared on the edges of his vision. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as his breath hissed in and out. _Move. Find Melia. Find her. Warn her._ Melia and Vanea had been standing next to something big and bulky. It had looked like an airship.

Shulk eyed the door across the room, judging the distance. It seemed like ten miles away. But he had to cross; he had no choice. _Find her. Warn her._ As he stumbled forward, something green caught his attention. Leaning against the table-bed was a sword reminiscent of the Monado in its resting form. Shulk changed his direction.

The weight was heavier, but it comforted him. It pressed harshly against his wound.

Shulk gritted his teeth, and made for the door.

* * *

The door slid to the Medical Bay open, and Sharla entered, rubbing her eyes. She let out a jaw-popping yawn. That three hour nap had done wonders. She'd have to thank Melia later.

"Now if only I could convince Fiora to get some rest. Maybe I'll set Melia on her," she mused. "What do you think Shulk?" No response. "Still haven't woken up, huh?"

Her gaze finally focused, and she took in the room. The first aid kit clattered to the floor. "Shulk? Shulk!"

There was no sign of the blonde.

* * *

Melia stretched her arms over her head. Wind whistled through the trees, briefly breaking the hot humidity. Bugs formed their own choir of noise, and distantly she could hear the deep croak of a Makna Brog. She turned to her companion. "Thank you for the ride."

"It was no trouble, Melia," Vanea replied, and then hesitated.

"What's wrong?"

"I just…this all seems so sudden. And a bit reckless. Are you sure you want to go alone?"

"I can take care of myself," Melia snapped, crossing her arms.

Vanea looked stricken. "I didn't mean it like that."

Guilt prickled and squirmed beneath her skin. Slowly, her shoulders slumped as her wings twitched self-consciously. "I know. I'm sorry, Vanea. I just…everything's been…difficult lately." A pause. Then in a very small voice, "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Get up every day knowing…?" She couldn't finish the question. Understanding flashed across Vanea's face, and she put a hand on Melia's shoulder.

"I won't lie and say it's easy," she said softly. "There are still days I wish I could rewind time. Maybe there were words I hadn't thought of. Ways I could've convinced him. But he's gone, and he was gone for a long, long time. I've accepted it."

"What if it hurts too much?" Melia whispered around the lump in her throat. _Gone._ That terrified her. _Accepted._ It was too final.

Vanea squeezed her shoulder. "Take your time."

 _I can't._ "I have people depending on me."

"All with their own wounds to nurse and mourn."

"I should be stronger."

"To do what?" Melia looked up in surprise. Vanea's sad eyes and voice were firm, "Rebuild the Mechonis's arm? Build an entire Mechon army? Egil had rage. Egil was strong. He still died because he shouldered on more than he could bear, and refused to share the weight."

"I have no choice." An Empress belonged to her people. She _had_ to bear the weight because she didn't trust anyone else to do it fairly. Vanea didn't understand the treasonous nature of the High Entia court. Melia had been naïve once. Never again. It was on this level she thought she could understand Egil.

"Everyone has a choice." With another squeeze, Vanea let her hand drop.

* * *

Vanea watched Melia until she disappeared down Valak Pass. Then she busied herself with preparing for flight. The airship she had 'borrowed' was a prototype of Junks. It hadn't been used in over a decade. Thus, it hadn't been upgraded to current air-travel standards. Fuel changes were needed after every flight.

She walked to the storage compartment and froze.

The hatch was open.

Cautiously, she crouched down and peered inside. Nothing out of the ordinary. She counted the fuel tanks. Just as many as when she had first closed the hatch. And she _had_ closed it; she was certain.

Her eyes narrowed onto something dripping on frame of the door. It was red. Did the tanks leak? Vanea looked down, and noticed the trail. It wove around the airship. She followed it until she reached the very edge of Valak Pass where it vanished amongst the wind and snow.

* * *

"Summon Flare," Melia whispered. A ball of flame materialized at the head of her staff. Imbued with a nurturing quality, it raced around her body, and quickly warmed her. The snow came up to her ankles, and she regretted not wearing sturdier boots. Drying off would have to wait though.

Melia shivered, and it wasn't from the cold.

Valak Mountain was quiet.

She had yet to run into any monsters, and that troubled her. She ploughed straight through Chilkin territory, but no angry birds accosted her. Some of her luck could be attributed to her outfit; white did blend into white. The wind shrieked and threw light snow flurries. Her ball of flames spun faster to counteract the worst of the chill.

Melia paused by one of the giant ice crystals, and placed a hand flat on its surface.

Did the Bionis awakening cause this? Was Valak Mountain only a freezing wasteland now? Melia hoped not. It only meant any survivors had an even slimmer chance of remaining alive. Melia closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Night couldn't come fast enough. The yellow lights would appear within the ice, and make navigating easier. And…it would make her feel more at ease.

She opened her eyes.

Slit pupils watched her through the ice.

Gasping, Melia stumbled backwards, rear hitting the ground as the enormous _thing_ reared up, wings five times as wide as the ice shard. She barely had time to draw her staff as the monster crossed its forearms and slashed down in an X shape. The giant ice crystal shattered like a mirror, shards flying.

"Refle-" The attack tore through her spell like paper; she flailed head over heels through space.

When the earth smacked her back, Melia couldn't breathe. Her chest cavity struggled to pull in oxygen as her wrist twitched uselessly, a dull throb echoing like a weak heartbeat.

The ground crunched and rumbled beneath her. A weird hissing pervaded over her gasps. Air pressure increased, and the monster loomed above her, roaring. It wasn't any ordinary monster; Melia could feel its power, and it was _staggering_. A shimmer of green flickered around it, a green you could only find in an ether stream. A green that could kill in an instant.

Then inexplicitly, the pressure disappeared. Melia dug her fingers into the snow, and pushed herself up. Her eyes spotted alien blue light. _No, it couldn't be…_ "Melia, look out!" Snow whacked her in the face; she looked over; a spiked tail hurtled at her. Eyes widening, Melia could only stare in morbid fascination.

In a blur of motion, a figure skidded between them. _Clang!_ Melia gaped.

"Shulk?" she whispered.

Knees bent, head bowed, arms straining, Shulk struggled under the weight of the monster with a strange new Monado.

"Melia!" he roared.

Melia was jolted by the sheer panic in his voice. She looked around wildly. Where was her staff? _Where was it?_

The split second she spotted it –dark gray about twenty feet away- Shulk toppled into her. His breaths came in heavy pants, and Melia didn't like the blank look. She twisted and pushed him up, letting him lean on her. Something thicker than snow touched her hand. Melia glanced down and saw blood. _Oh._

Of course his wound hadn't fully healed. But _why_ was he out _here_? Were the others with him?

As her thoughts ran in circles, the wind stopped. As did the snow. The sudden lull was disquieting.

Her eyes traced the dark scales up, up, and up.

For the first time, she got a proper view of the monster.

It was as if someone had taken a strong wire, wrapped it around the dragon's snout, and pressed in to form the mouth, peeling back the skin to reveal rows of pointed teeth. Four crooked horns rested malevolently on its head. Down the neck and body, faint orange lines ran between the purple-blue scales like a furnace. The red caught her attention. It shouldn't have been so apparent from where she sat, but those eyes held her like a fly in its web.

Amber red, the monster hiding under your bed. _"If you don't behave, Abaasy will snatch you away."_

She started when Shulk hauled himself to his feet. "I'll distract him," he said roughly, sparing a glance over his shoulder. "Get your staff."

"N-no, wait!" Melia made a grab, but missed. Without missing a beat, she hauled herself to her feet, and sprinted after him. As she did, her vision tunneled. Shulk's red vest grayed out and became her focus as her mind took a step back and watched. Everything took on a sluggish filter. The monster leaned down almost leisurely, teeth closing completely around Shulk's torso. It shook its head. Shulk screamed as gray liquid squirted everywhere. The sickening green aura leaked through the gray. Shulk's scream was cut off. Silence echoed.

Melia blinked. Color flooded back.

Twelve seconds. She had twelve seconds before that sub-vision came true. Turning on her heel, she ran left. Ten feet. Nine seconds. Melia gathered her ether. Three feet. Five seconds.

She snatched up the Imperial Staff. The metal thrummed as her ether charged up through the shaft. Its gems started glowing. One glance told Melia all she needed to know. Positioning herself, she cocked her arm back. "Shulk!" she screamed. "Duck!"

She threw her staff as hard as she could.

Heart in throat, she watched it sail through the air.

Three seconds.

Two.

One.

It flew over Shulk's shoulder, narrowly avoiding his head, and lodged itself in the green aura. As if it had a mind of its own, the Imperial Staff pushed through, gems glowing impossibly bright. There was a suctioning noise.

The monster's aura broke.

Roaring, it stumbled back, shaking its massive head. Shulk didn't waste the opportunity, jumping up for an Air Slash. Unfortunately, he couldn't attack and block simultaneously. Just as the attack connected with a forearm, the other one lashed out, and caught him in the side, flinging him away like a rag doll. Shulk landed limbs askew. He didn't get back up.

The dragon leaned down, jaws agape.

Melia was already moving. Numb fingers fumbled with her bag's clasps. Curses slipped out as she ripped the bag open, and grabbed the nearest thermos. She unscrewed the top. "Hey!" No reaction. Aggroing wasn't her forte. What would Reyn do? "Your mother was a salamander!"

 _That_ got its attention.

Melia had the distinct feeling it was more incredulous than angry.

Her staff lay a few feet to her right. Inching towards it, she kept up her spiel. "That's right. Salamander. Your mother." Inwardly, she cringed. _Way to be creative._ From the corner of her eye, Melia noticed Shulk stirring. She tried not to give any indication of her relief. Bending down, never taking her eyes off the monster, she picked up her staff. More movement from Shulk. Melia waved her staff tauntingly. "To think a simple attack would bring you down."

Lips drew back in a snarl. Fire built in the back of its throat; Melia was staring at the gates of Hell. Suddenly her impromptu plan had too many flaws. But there was no backing down. She braced herself.

And Shulk didn't disappoint.

The new Monado slammed into the dragon's head, effectively knocking the flames off course a couple inches. Melia ducked low and ran. Closer and closer until she saw her reflection in one amber eye.

Without thinking, she doused it with soup.

Roaring turned to screaming. Melia clapped her hands over her ears. She felt the screams in her bones; felt it reverberate in the mountain. A hand grabbed her arm, and she opened her eyes (she hadn't realized she closed them). Shulk, mouth moving urgently, was tugging her along. Looking up, she understood.

Prompted by the surreal shrieks, layers of snow were collapsing. Converging.

Toward _them_.

Shulk transferred his grip to her hand. Melia nearly tripped from the following yank.

They ran. But they weren't fast enough.

Melia ate snow and dirt as chest high snow knocked her over. Her arm wrenched painfully. Shulk's nails dug into her wrist before being torn away forcefully. Eyes squeezed shut, Melia didn't know which way was up or down. She didn't know where Shulk was either. Briefly surrendering seemed like the best solution. Like a tidal wave, the snow dragged her along carelessly, slamming and scraping her against rocks. Her bag snagged on something, and Melia's forward motion halted abruptly, the strap constricting her remaining oxygen. Hands forced their way through the pressure to clutch the strap. But any attempt to lift it was futile. She was stuck.

Black spots appeared in her visions; the world shushed her softly.

At least she would see Kallian and Father soon….even Mama.

" _Who's ready for a bedtime story?"_

" _Me!"_

Her eyes closed.

* * *

The moment he lost his grip on Melia, Shulk fought to get to the surface. When his head broke through, he gasped for air. The gash in his side burned and stretched. He flailed, trying to get his bearings. Every movement was a strain; the snow was packed heavily on all sides. He looked around wildly.

"Melia!" he screamed, voice echoing.

There was no answer, and he couldn't see any sign of her. Still, he refused to give up. "Melia! Where are you? _Melia!"_

The avalanche had taken them further down Bagnar Snowfield. Hollow Bone was nearby, he vaguely realized. A plan started forming in his mind. If he could just get them to the lower levels of Valak Mountain, they could regroup there.

But first he had to find Melia.

Shulk wished he had Riki's Burninate or Dunban's Battle Eye. If he had a skill to melt the snow or somehow lock-on to Melia's location…. _That's it!_

Reaching over his shoulder, he grasped the hilt of his Monado, but didn't draw it. He focused hard. Using Monado Arts was practically second nature, but now he had to use his own power, not whatever fragment of Zanza the self-proclaimed god put in his body as a child. It was like training with Reyn; Shulk had to build up his 'muscles.'

"Enchant," he whispered. A soft purple aura briefly surrounded him before shooting out in search of non-Mechon weapons. It stopped about thirty feet behind him, hovering and sinking into the snow like a beacon. Shulk braced himself as he awkwardly half-crawled, half-slithered through the snow. The worst of the avalanche had passed, but snow was still sliding; misplaced hands and knees sent large portions tumbling down. Progress was slow. White turned red as he crawled along; his sweater clung uncomfortably to his wet bandages. He tried to ignore it.

Finally, _finally,_ he reached Melia's spot just as Enchant faded. Gritting his teeth, frozen fingers shoveled snow away. Two wings revealed themselves. Encouraged, Shulk dug until he uncovered Melia's face. She was pale and unmoving, and for a moment, Shulk thought the worst. He put a finger under her nose, and waited with baited breath. The smallest puff of air greeted him. Shulk swallowed heavily, silently thanking the stars.

"Hold on. I'm going to get you out," he said, getting back to work. When he found her upper body, he slipped his hands under her armpits, and attempted to pull her free.

She didn't budge. He quickly found the problem.

Shulk gave her bag a good tug. "Come on. _Come on_!" he grunted.

There was a sudden displacement in the air, the sound of flapping wings. Looking up, he saw the monster circling. Shulk's breath caught. _Oh no._ Turning back to Melia, he tapped her cheeks urgently. When she didn't wake up, he sat back on his heels to survey the situation. The bag was pinning her. It didn't have a breakable strap. But maybe if he tried pushing her under and out…? A low boom rumbled the ground, a heavy weight landing.

Shulk flinched.

And went on auto-pilot.

He pressed on Melia's shoulders hard. A little gasp burst from her lips, eyes flickering under her lids. "Sorry," Shulk mumbled. Inch by torturously slow inch, he worked her out. There was a bruise on her neck, extending across her throat and down her collarbone. He shifted, putting Melia over his shoulder and standing up.

Hollow Bone wasn't far. But he'd have to run.

Shulk eyed the distance, feeling nauseous.

They could make it. They _would_.

Whatever Melia had thrown at the monster was affecting its vision, one eye half-closed. Shulk waited until its head was turned then ran, kicking up snow.

Despite its eyesight being impaired, the monster wasn't deaf.

Red and black weren't the best colors to blend in either.

Halfway to the cave, Shulk tripped, landing awkwardly on Melia just as a wave of fire passed overhead. The roar was deafening. And the snow began picking up momentum. _Not again. Please not again._ Shulk shoved himself to his feet, yanking Melia up as well. He hugged her to him and fought. Fought for every step. If he went down, they would both go down, and Shulk wasn't entirely sure if he would get back up.

The world narrowed down to the girl in his arms and his destination. _Don't let go._ One foot. _Never let go._ Now the other. Icy wind scratched his face, and stole the air from his lungs.

They reached the cave's entrance. Shulk chanced a glance back. The monster was gone. Confused, he halted, panting, and looked around. Not a trace. A cloud of steamy air ruffled his hair. Slowly, his eyes moved up. Like a lizard, the dragon clung to the rock above the cave, claws digging gouges.

Shulk didn't wait for the attack.

He ran.

And slipped on ice.

 _That's right,_ he remembered too late. _Hollow Bone is one big Slip-and-Slide._

Head met ground with a sickening crack.

 **To Be Continued...**


	15. Chapter 15

Hello lovelies. This one took a very long time to write. Sorry about that. I had to take a step back and examine what exactly I wanted to do with this. And I've decided...I need to split this whole story arc into four parts. Why is it whenever I write something with character development, it turns out to be a gazillion pages long? Oh well. More to read I suppose. :)

 **ALSO:** If you want a bit of an update on the update schedule (that sounds weird out loud), it'll be on my profile. I'm going to try something a little new.

OnePirateWolf96: Melia is struggling with her grief; she's definitely not thinking clearly. Shulk just came out of a coma overwhelmed by his vision; he's not really thinking clearly either. Both of them are just making poor life decisions left and right. Lol. I like writing the political/social setting in Colony 6. I thought that would've been interesting in-game if our heroes weren't so busy. Nymira was fun to write. I feel like she will definitely appear more in the future. As for Tyrea...well, you'll see ;). Thanks for the review! PS: Melia _should_ take some pointers from Reyn on how to piss off enemies. That would be entertaining!

Consort: Melia gets all the points in the world. And a cinnamon roll. Part 2 just gets crazier. I'm not done with Abaasy by a long shot. He's a pretty prominent character in this story arc and I have plans for Abaasy in future projects. He's too interesting to leave alone. Thanks for reviewing though!

SubZeroChimera: What's white and black and red all over? Shulk bleeding out in the snow! *crickets chirping* You may throw a pitchfork at me for that. But horrible jokes aside, things just build from here. Hehe. Thanks for the review!

PerfectFlyer: Yay! I'm so glad you're back! As for your reviews - **chapter 8** : NPCs are very fun to play with. If you liked Lesunia and Arielle, just wait until I get my writing clutches on the rest of Kallian's guards. Evil, evil plans I have. Mwhahaha! I always thought Kallian came across as meaning well, but a little naive in the game. A little bit sheltered and a little bit hot-headed. He's a nice tossed salad of emotions! And the mental image of Kallian in makeup was just too much to resist :). **Chapter 10** : awww, thank you! **Chapter 11:** I really like attention to detail. One of my favorite things about reading a fic is going back to reread and realizing there were some details I had missed. It just makes the second read through that much more enjoyable. As for Fiora's death, I wanted to convey that in death, you lose sense of your identity, and everything is remembered through lingering senses/feelings, which is why Fiora didn't recognize Shulk at first in her memories. I have many more prompts to explore Fiora's character so it doesn't rely solely on Shulk. PS: strawberries are so yummy. I am craving some right now. **Chapter 12:** I was HOPING someone would get the reference! Lol :). And aww, thank you! Once I think of a basic situation, the characters just seem to go for it. Tis' glorious! **Chapter 13:** *hands you some Reviver Seeds* Juju's voice came more readily to me. I could've gone with Sharla, but the fic might've turned out a lot darker. I wanted a child's perspective. Oakley rules over us all. Special ability? Kicking people in the feels ;). **Chapter 14:** "non-violent part of the Order" HA! Nymira also conveniently left out a few details about that part. But hey! She needed to convince Melia to help her. Let's just say non-violent doesn't automatically mean pacifist. Also, crazy shenanigans just get crazier. Thanks so, so, SO much for all those reviews! It means a lot.

Guest: D'aww, thank ye kindly for the nice words. Part 2 took a while because I had to think how to connect all the parts together. There are A LOT of elements I'm trying to incorporate, thus a headache for the brain :). Plus, I was writing other one-shots for after this arc. I won't be touching Melia and Shulk as a prompt for a while after this, that's for sure. Lol. But yeah! Thanks for reviewing. It gave me a nice kick in the writing rear.

And thank you Lady of the Emblem, abbydobbie, Entr0py, and crudbutt for the Favorites and/or Follow!

Enjoy!

* * *

417\. Under pressure (Shulk and Melia)

 **Part 2**

The air reeked of the end.

A Chilkin squawked indignantly as it was nudged none-too-gently down the slope. The Gloria Slobos herding in the flock was unapologetic.

Apis Lair was half full; the Ories huddled on one end while the Lexos ruled the rocky outcroppings on the other. The herd of Eks shifted and pawed the snow nervously. Lexos were known to carry off foals in their talons. Among their pacing, glimpses of the Antol tribe could be seen, led by one of Barbaric Sitri's offspring.

Nebulas floated amongst the organized chaos, indifferent to clan rivalries. A stark contrast was the Apis monsters that flitted frantically between groups. One was smacked away by Glorious Buer, who struggled to control the recent expansion of his flock. The murmur of dissent was obvious; it wouldn't be long before one of Banquet Vassago's former generals challenged what they perceived to be a weak leader. As of now, they wouldn't dare.

On an icy shelf above them all stood Final Marcus observing the evacuation. Yes, Apis Lair would serve for the time being. Displaced air made him glance up. Lophos Moramoras flew overhead, gliding to the rocky outcroppings to join their distant cousins. Straggling behind in haphazard formation were the Ansels.

Final Marcus wondered if he would see any of his brothers and sisters again in the new world. What form would they take? What form would he?

A neigh drew his attention. Wandering Amon led an Aries herd down the slope. Another Gloria Slobos followed, arms cradling a small mountain of Paguls close. The snow was getting harder to traverse. Already it reached the chest fur of many large Aries.

Wandering Amon looked up and caught his gaze. The Eks dipped his head in acknowledgement as he trotted by. It was a gesture Final Marcus returned without hesitation. Wandering Amon was a friend that he'd like to meet again. Perhaps they'd be comrades in a Chilkin flock. Maybe brothers in the same Eks herd. Wandering Amon would like that. Even though he wouldn't remember. But that was alright. Final Marcus would carry on the memories.

Duties done, the two Gloria Slobos loped up the ice mounds towards him. Final Marcus grunted. They stopped and waited. Eyes sweeping over all the monsters gathered, he turned to his companions and signaled.

They would do one last check.

Everyone made way as they lumbered to the entry slope. A sharp whinny made Final Marcus turn. Wandering Amon strode forward, but Final Marcus shook his head, gesturing at all the monsters present. _Stay._ The Eks's eyes narrowed.

Final Marcus held a closed fist over his heart, thumping once. It was a gesture of friendship among the Slobos. For a long moment, there was no noise as Wandering Amon held his gaze. Then the Eks snorted, head shaking as he stepped forward to press his horn against Final Marcus's shoulder.

When they parted, Final Marcus signaled the two Gloria Slobos to follow as he headed up the slope without another backwards glance. His companions would search the upper level while he took the lower one.

If he encountered Blizzard Belgazas, he'd invite the behemoth to come, but do nothing else. Blizzard Belgazas was not one to be ordered around.

Final Marcus pondered what he would do if his behemoth brother joined their dragon brother. Balance was important. He was not soft-hearted. Final Marcus knew his younger brothers and sisters hunted each other to keep their species alive. That was natural.

Nothing was natural about himself or the other four like him. This reason alone prompted his response.

There were a lot of things his younger brothers and sisters deserved. Thick feathers and fur, sharpened horns and claws, the skills needed to survive this wintry mountain. They deserved a world reborn.

They did not deserve Abaasy's rage.

* * *

" _Once, there was a great dragon," her mama began. Melia snuggled closer, pulling her side of the blanket around her tight. The pages of the book were worn yet still glossy. A golden border outlined the edges of the illustrations. Her eyes were drawn to the dragon, standing tall and proud._

" _With scales of the ocean's depths and amber eyes of frozen flame. With wings that spanned an entire city and talons the length of a man's forearm. People and monsters alike flocked to the great dragon, and bestowed upon him the name Lord Protector."_

 _Fingers crinkled the page and turned it. "Whoa," Melia breathed. Amongst the desert rose white stone buildings in a circle. At the heart of the city was a large fountain; children played in its water. A gray stone dragon reared on its hind legs, wings spread wide and arched, providing shade._

 _Her mama touched the picture wistfully. "I miss it."_

" _Why?"_

" _This is where I was born."_

" _You lived there?" Melia asked, eyes widening. She knew Mama was Homs, but it never occurred to her that Mama had been born elsewhere. Weird. "Do High Entia live there?"_

" _No, it's a Homs population with a couple of Nopon merchants each year."_

" _Then how'd you meet Father?"_

 _An unreadable look flickered across Mama's face. "That's a story for another day." She gestured at the book. "Shall we continue?" At Melia's nod, she cleared her throat and turned the page. "His great big-"_

" _Can we go there?" Melia asked suddenly. She tugged on Mama's arm. "Can we? I want to see it."_

 _A sad smile. "Perhaps someday I will show you what remains."_

 _Melia smiled brightly. She tapped the heart consumed in flames on the page. "His great big flaw was his great big heart," she read slowly and clearly._

" _That loved freely and fiercely all who came near," Mama took over. "But one day soon came. When the great dragon changed. All who approached were slaughtered on the spot."_

" _What does 'slaughtered' mean?" Melia asked sleepily._

" _To kill."_

" _But…why?"_

" _No one knew. Some say that loving everyone became too much of a burden. Others say a spell was cast so the great dragon only saw evil. The elders did agree on one thing. The heart once consumed by love now burned with hatred. With the help of the Giants and the High Entia, the great dragon was sealed away within the depths of cold mountains."_

 _Melia stared at the dragon crouching low in the snow, eyes narrowed into slits. Lips were drawn back in a snarl. Blue runes crisscrossed on scales. They looked like chains. Melia touched the page lightly. "He looks so lonely."_

" _Some tried loving the dragon despite recent behavior, but that didn't do anything. Many others, whose loved ones had perished, hated the dragon, but it got them nowhere. Eventually…they stopped."_

" _Stopped…?"_

" _What does love feel like to you, sweetheart?"_

 _Melia thought a moment. "Well, I love you. It feels warm and nice like a blanket."_

" _Do you hate anything?"_

" _Pink Asparagus!"_

 _Mama chuckled. "Does it make you angry?"_

 _Melia nodded emphatically. "It's gross!" She hesitated then added quietly, "I also don't like people who make fun of my wings. It makes me so angry sometimes my head hurts."_

 _Her mother kissed the top of her head. "You're perfect as you are. But do you see? What does love and hate have in common?"_

 _Melia bit her lower lip. "They both feel warm?"_

" _Exactly. Love and hate are warm because they make you_ care _. When the people sealed the dragon away, they erased him from history." Her mama flipped through the last couple of pages. With each page turned, the dragon's figure disappeared in the blizzard until only faint red eyes remained. Then those too vanished as slender fingers reached the last page._

 _Sadness weighed heavily in her stomach. She twisted around to look at her mother. "What's colder than love and hate, Mama?"_

 _Mama frowned. She opened her mouth to respond, but water dribbled down her chin. The trickle thickened into a stream, and she was coughing, struggling to breathe. Melia blinked. She was looking at herself._

* * *

Inhaling below-freezing water was not fun. Melia thrashed in panic, somehow finding the surface. She gasped and coughed, lungs uncertain whether to expel the water first or intake the precious oxygen. When she got her ragged breathing under control, Melia opened her eyes. A flash of red caught her attention; Shulk was floating face-down.

Fear struck hard and leant strength to her seizing muscles as she swam closer. She grabbed him under the armpits, and flipped him over. His face was pallid, lips turned faintly blue.

He wasn't breathing.

Melia hugged his back to her chest as she kicked backwards. When she hit land, she pulled herself out first, muscles straining, and then hauled Shulk out. She laid him flat on his back. "Shulk?" she tried, tapping his cheek. "Shulk!"

He lay still and unresponsive.

Without missing a beat, Melia clasped her hands together, and began chest compressions. _Pump the chest thirty times,_ Sharla had taught her while fixing her position, _then check the airways. If the person hasn't started breathing on their own, do two rescue breaths._

 _Twenty-eight…twenty-nine…thirty…_ She pinched his nose, and tipped his head back. Hesitation loitered on the edges of her conscious, but Melia shook her head and sealed her mouth over Shulk's, breathing deep. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his chest rise. She leaned back, and began compressions once more.

 _One…two…three…_ "Please, please, _please!" Twenty…twenty-one…twenty-two…_ Two more rescue breaths. No response. "Shulk, I'm begging you!"

By her fourth round of compressions, Melia feared the worst. Blood, thick and sluggish, squelched between her fingers as she pressed. _Of course_. How could she have forgotten the gunshot wound? Shulk's body became blurry as her breathing accelerated.

She was probably making things _worse-_

Shulk coughed. Melia froze, watching with wide eyes. His chest heaved beneath her hands, lungs straining beyond functionality. She rolled him onto his side before scooting away, the back of one hand pressed tightly against her mouth. Biting her lip, she attempted to contain her trembling; her free hand knuckled the ground.

Shulk had nearly… Melia shuddered.

"…lia…"

Crawling close, she leaned over his prone form. "Shulk?"

He snagged one of her hovering hands. A sliver of blue peeked from beneath an eyelid, roving until it settled on her face. His throat swallowed roughly. "Al…right?" he rasped.

Whether he was asking about her wellbeing, his wellbeing, or just the situation in general, Melia wasn't very sure. Nevertheless, she brought her other hand up, and clasped Shulk's between hers, rubbing gently. Ether streamed into her hands as she worked. It wasn't a Summon Flare, more like the ghost of one. Her throat worked against an invisible lump, and she swallowed.

"We're alright, Shulk."

But how long would that last?

* * *

The transmitter crackled to life. Vanea let it hiss and sputter four times before she finally reached over, and typed in the answering code. From the shoulders up, Zilex materialized as a hologram. Her father's secretary buzzed in and out of existence. Vanea turned a knob, and the image stabilized.

"…you copy?"

"I hear you clearly, Zilex," she said.

The hologram frowned. "There seems to be a lot of static in the connection."

"It's the air space I am in. Signal is not the greatest."

"Your location tracker is also off-air," Zilex observed mildly.

"I am driving one of the older models," Vanea answered smoothly. The urge to be petty came suddenly and strongly, so she added, "This one in particular came from a project my brother helped direct."

"Ah, um, one moment please." His image turned slightly to the side, relaying something to someone off-screen though no sound came from his lips. Vanea focused on steering. Melia's request, though strange, had not been unwelcome. If she were honest, Vanea was grateful for the distraction. She hated arguing with her father, but it seemed like that's all they ever did anymore.

Whenever she brought up the topic of funerals, her father withdrew into himself and became rather dismissive. It left Vanea hopelessly frustrated. She had hoped Egil's sacrifice would redeem him in their father's eyes, but it was all in vain. Too many years of estrangement and anger had widened the gap to insurmountable proportions.

It hurt.

Zilex was trying to get her attention. He looked visibly uncomfortable. "Your father wishes for you to come back immediately."

"Is that a request or a demand?" Her voice cooled significantly.

"I…unfortunately cannot clarify that."

"And why not?"

Zilex's eyes darted away. "He just left."

Vanea's hands tightened on the control stick. She spoke through gritted teeth. "Well, you can tell my _dear father_ I am on my way."

"But-"

"Was there anything else?"

Well, uh, I mean… _actually_!" Zilex's nervous stuttering came to an abrupt halt. His eyes were wide, and Vanea regretted being curt with him. His hands were held up as if to physically prevent her from cutting the connection. "There is something else! Eleqa contacted me with her most recent report of ether readings."

She blinked. "Oh, well, you can just download the file for me. I'll take a look once I return."

"Here's the thing-" He leaned forward like he was about to share juicy gossip. "Eleqa actually requested that her deadline be extended. According to her, she wants to triple-check her findings!"

Vanea frowned. "That is indeed strange. And worrisome. Eleqa is usually confident in her work. But triple-checking isn't a crime," she reminded him. Even so, a bad feeling started forming in her chest.

"She thinks her data collector is broken," Zilex went on. "And I couldn't help, but notice she sounded exhausted. All those patrols must be running her ragged. I mean, if only there was someone who could stop by and reassure her or check her work." He tried giving her a subtle pointed look.

The beginnings of a smile tugged at her lips. "It's a shame I've been summoned back to the colony."

"It's also a shame you're driving one of the older airships. They aren't known for their superb transmitter connections."

"The call log-"

"Oops! My finger slipped and hit the Delete key."

That startled a laugh at of her. "Quite clumsy of you, Zilex! You're supposed to impeccably organized as the esteemed leader's secretary."

"Everyone makes mistakes." Zelix smiled shyly before sobering. "Miqol _knows_ that. If push comes to shove, I'll make him understand the implications of this detour. What if these strange ether readings are somehow important in defeating Zanza?"

"You make a fair point," Vanea admitted. Leaning forward, "Thank you, Zilex," she said softly.

He waved at her. "Good luck!" The connection was cut.

Vanea sat back in her seat, exhaling slowly.

Then she changed course.

It took a little over an hour to reach the Fallen Arm. As she approached the Hidden Village, she started slowing the engine. Timing was important. Half a mile out, she performed a thrust reversal; the tail pipes rotated forward and exhaust blasted out, deaccelerating the airship further. Directly above the village, she carefully maneuvered into the space Junks usually resided. Just in time too. The engine gave a pathetic whine-screech, and the final landing was rough. Vanea winced, hearing the splash.

Hopefully no Machina had been nearby.

She exited the aircraft, heels clanking on the dock. The villagers called out to her eagerly.

"Vanea!"

"You're back!"

"Is everything alright at Colony 6?"

"You would need to define 'alright,' Vronik," Vanea said, smiling weakly. "Shulk is still in a coma, and we are no closer to figuring out a plan for Zanza." She didn't mention the tension between the Homs and the High Entia. Despite spending most of her time on Junks, she wasn't blind.

But she hadn't exactly been looking either. One instance stood out in her mind when she'd been weaving in between vendors at the commercial district. The specific merchant she searched for was located furthest from Junks. She had passed a growing line and heard the commotion. Curious, she stopped to investigate.

At the front of the line, an argument was unfolding.

"There was a mistake," a male High Entia said, throwing a wrapped sandwich down on the counter. A cloaked figure –most likely a friend - stood next to him, hood drawn up.

"No mistake!" the vendor snapped. He was a short and squat Homs with merchant beads clattering around his neck. Red in the face, his hooked nose flared sharply.

"I ordered _fresh_ Sardi meat," the High Entia went on unperturbed. "This is clearly spoiled."

"You left it out in the sun."

"I got it ten minutes ago!"

The vendor squinted, raking his eyes up and down the other. He hummed to himself before shaking his head. "You and your kind look too similar. I don't recognize you."

"Excuse me?" Eyebrows furrowed as his mustache trembled. Through the layer of strained politeness, the beginnings of a temper glinted. "What do you mean by that, _sir_?"

"Exactly what I say. I refuse service!"

"I am a paying customer!"

In the line, people grumbled and shifted. One person called out, "Oh come off it! We saw you struggle to pay the first time."

"Think he'll beg for change again?" whispered another.

"Why would he need to? Look at the clothes he's wearing."

"Maybe his kind prefers vanity."

"I heard he's one of those Tele-something refugees."

"Those monsters?! Why is it _here_ then?"

The crowd grew louder with its discontent. They started jeering the old man, and the amount of vitriol that spewed forth was nauseating. The air was dank with disgust and suspicion and charged with an undercurrent of fear. Anger, such anger. The way eyes narrowed into slits, the clenching and unclenching of hands, the downward turn of lips…this was not the first time Vanea had witnessed the festering of hatred. Over the decades, Egil's rage had simmered into an icy shard beneath layers of raw wounds. It lingered possessively, and drew her brother down time and time again whenever she offered a hand up.

The only difference was the people. They fed off one another, shoved each other's words down their throats, and offered their own gluttonous meal to the banquet. Egil never had that.

In a way, that felt worse.

Bold hands reached out, and tried snagging the hood off the old man's companion. They shrunk away, and held the edges tightly. It didn't deter anyone. One woman stepped closer to get a better grip.

"Get away!" the old man snapped, shoving her back. The woman stumbled and fell. Multiple hands were offered to her, multiple glares were offered at him.

Ignoring them, the old man wrapped an arm around his companion's waist, and tried hurrying them away. People grabbed, smacked, and generally let their disapproval be known. Vanea started cutting through the crowd; she didn't know what she was going to do, but she couldn't stand by any longer.

The pair disappeared around the corner.

"Good riddance," someone muttered.

Vanea halted, dismayed.

"Lady, hey lady! Down in front!"

Startled, she looked at the vendor who'd refused service. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said reflexively, stepping back a pace. That's when she realized she had made it to the front of his line.

Black eyes surveyed her up and down. "What are you supposed to be?"

"I'm a Machina."

"Mechon?" He scowled, beads rattling.

"No, Machina are organic-"

"Yeah, yeah machine lady. " He grumbled under his breath, "Damn bird brains. Starve for all I care."

"I'd like to order two sandwiches," Vanea said abruptly.

He eyed her. "Machines don't eat."

Annoyance prickled in her throat. She cleared it. "I have the money."

The merchant's eyes gleamed.

The transaction had only taken a few minutes. To Vanea, it felt longer; the merchant counted the Gold slowly, reverently. As soon as the food wraps touched her palms, she ducked away. Finding the old man and his companion hadn't been hard; Vanea only searched for two blocks before spotting them on a bench. The male stood as she approached, eyeing her warily.

Without a word, she held out the sandwiches.

The High Entia drew himself up imperiously, chin held high. "What is this?" His hands trembled minutely and dark rings hung under his eyes. Linada had once told her those were signs of exhaustion in Bionis races.

"I saw what happened in the market. So I bought you these."

"What do you want in return?"

"Nothing. I-"

"We are not charity cases!" the man spat.

Vanea's eyes widened. "No! I didn't mean-"

"Father," said his companion. Her voice was airy and delicate and very, very tired. She stood up from the bench and swayed. Her father gave her his arm which she clung to. Under the hood, green eyes tracked the food dully, cheeks gaunt. To Vanea, she continued, "Thank you for your kindness. We owe you a great debt."

Vanea passed her the food and shook her head. "Not at all. It was wrong how they treated you."

"That is an understatement," the man snorted. "Vargas is an ass. He lowers his prices as a 'favor.' The only favor we've gotten from him was his spoiled meat."

"I'm sure it was accidental, Father," the female said.

He muttered something the merchant could go do. Vanea was pretty sure it was physically impossible.

Ignoring him, his daughter studied her. "You are with the Monado boy, are you not?"

"I am."

"How is he?"

"He is resting." Vanea chose her words carefully. "We have hopes for his recovery."

"As do the High Entia. It was he who brought together his interracial team. Perhaps he could convince the Homs we mean them no harm." She unwrapped her sandwich a bit and inhaled dreamily. "This smells very good. Very fresh. I thank you again."

"If you ever need anything, come to Junks and ask for me. I am Vanea." She held out her hand.

Both father and daughter stared at the proffered hand. Then the female stepped forward and shook it. "I am known as Zel Argentis. This is my father, Don Argentis. You do us great service," she said formally. "One day, we will repay you."

"There really is no need."

"Our home is destroyed, overrun by Telethia. Our friends and family are scattered far and wide. All we have left is our dignity." Green eyes flashed. "Please let us keep that."

With that, they had parted ways.

And now, looking at her fellow villagers, Vanea felt sick. She knew Neonik and Shilx were contemplating immigration to Colony 6. Remembering the merchant's slimy eyes crawling over her, Vanea shuddered. She didn't want either of them to experience that. Nor the rude ignorance of people.

"Are you alright, Vanea?" asked Vronik, tilting her head. "You spaced out there for a minute."

Vanea smiled reassuringly at her before asking, "Where is Eleqa?"

"If she's not on patrol, then she's cooped up in her house," Rizaka interrupted, crossing her arms. "My sister won't even take a five minute break!"

"She's working her hardest," Vronik tried placating. "She wants to keep us all safe."

"Well, what if _I_ want to keep _her_ safe too?"

"I will talk to her," Vanea said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Rizaka sagged. "Thank you."

She smiled reassuringly before hurrying towards the curve of houses.

* * *

"This is all wrong!"

Vanea sidestepped the thrown data collector, and cleared her throat. Eleqa whipped around, hands on her hips, nostrils flaring.

"What!" she snapped. Her eyes widened. "Vanea! By Mechonis, I am so sorry."

"Bad day?" Vanea scooped up the data collector and ventured closer.

Eleqa sighed heavily, scrubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand. "The worst."

"Talking helps."

"I don't have time. My next patrol is in three minutes and I rea-"

Vanea planted her hands on Eleqa's shoulders. "Sit."

Eleqa sat. More like her knees gave out.

Vanea sat down across from her. "No one will begrudge you a break," she said lightly.

"I know." Eleqa avoided her eyes. "But it's just safer with increased patrols."

"Protecting people while exhausted is never a good idea either," Vanea pointed out.

"Who would you suggest I send instead?" Bitterness clung to the young Machina's tone. "It's not kind to ask this of them."

"Any more than you demanding it of yourself?"

"I can handle it. Besides, it's better to let them be happy for a while longer."

Vanea tilted her head. "How do you mean?"

"You were there when the Bionis reawakened. How long will it be before the Telethia come after us again?"

"They won't."

"How do you know?"

She took Eleqa's hands and squeezed them. "I _know_. It won't come to that, Eleqa, I promise you."

After a long moment, Eleqa nodded.

"Now, what were you looking at?" Vanea asked, passing back the data collector.

Sighing, Eleqa pressed a few buttons and swiped her finger across the screen. An anatomic diagram of the Bionis appeared. She rotated so Vanea could see it better. "Do you remember when Egil wanted us to plant data probes on Bionis?"

"After Zanza was sealed away? Yes, I do." It was one of the last times Egil and their father had spoken cordially. She remembered him suggesting the idea. It made sense; monitor the ether flow and estimate when Zanza might return. An alarm system of sorts. Many Machina had jumped on the idea, devastation and grief driving their weary fingers and numb minds. She remembered a very young Eleqa demanding to be part of the project in lieu of her ill mother. Working tirelessly, she had caught the attention of Egil, who took her under his mentorship. If Vanea had to blame her brother for anything, it would be influencing this self-destructive cycle of work.

"Well, after you and the others returned from the Core, the probes picked up a huge release of ether into the atmosphere."

"Possibly from Lorithia's surprise attack," Vanea mused. A thought occurred to her. "What about all the ether Egil harvested?"

"If I had to guess, the Mechonis itself protected us. Raw ether couldn't cut through its walls. Barring the ether that 'splashed,' we were _very_ lucky." Eleqa shuddered. "Could you imagine?"

Yes, yes she could. The screams would be on par with Agniratha's destruction if the ether didn't vaporize them first. It'd melt and eat Fallen Arm entirely, destroying all flora and fauna. There'd be no trace the Machina ever existed. They'd be exterminated.

Vanea's breath caught, and she shook her head. "I'd rather not."

"That wasn't what I was upset about," Eleqa said quickly, eager to leave that subject alone. "Cut off from Agniratha, I know we didn't have the best materials to make sturdy probes, but the ones that survived have been accurate thus far…."

"But?" Vanea prompted.

"I don't know if this is a malfunction or not!" The device was shoved into her hands. "Look."

Vanea did. Thin green streams of ether twined and overlapped each other. The whole configuration looked like veins, and the 'blood' flowed towards the sternum. _Into the Bionis Interior_ , she realized. The ether came together as one thick stream, pushing up through the ribs and neck, pooling at the head.

She glanced at the other. "Everything seems to be working relatively fine. Prison Island is located at the head, and the ether gathering there makes sens-"

"No." Eleqa shook her head. "Look at the right arm."

She looked, saw, and didn't believe. The arm was draining at a deaccelerated rate. Several veins were ripped open. Tapping the arm did nothing. It only brought up an ERROR message. "Interesting," she murmured. Louder, "I don't think it was a malfunction. Look at these ether streams. Someone or some _thing_ deliberately did this."

"A monster?" Eleqa said disbelievingly. "What has the power to do _that_?"

"I don't know." But her mind wandered. A wisp prodded the back of her consciousness like a sentence she'd heard from somewhere long ago. An old story perhaps? It nagged and teased her. "Cold. It had to do with the cold."

"Excuse me?"

Vanea raised a hand to wave off questions, but paused halfway. "What happens when ether is exposed to the cold?"

"Extreme cold? I'm…not _entirely_ sure, but…"

"You have a theory."

"Ether is really flexible. It shapes, creates, and destroys. It _is_ the building block of all life." She paused. Vanea waited patiently as she gathered her thoughts. "From what I observed over the last few days, raw ether needs to be kept at a certain temperature. It flows underground, deeper in colder regions. Further research would be needed, but I've noticed the deeper the ether river is, the fewer amount of ether deposits on the surface. Now there's not a thick layer of ground to protect it. I'm sixty-nine percent sure it'll freeze."

Dread drew its finger down her spine. She stared at the arm, at Valak Mountain.

 _Oh Melia,_ she thought. _Please be safe._

* * *

It was a long time before they moved.

Even with Shulk semi-conscious and his arm over her shoulders, Melia struggled to support him. Walking was a generous term for their drunken stumbling. A deep chill had taken residence in her very core, pulsing and numbing. If someone bashed her against the rocky wall, there was a pretty good chance she wouldn't notice.

Or care.

Halfway through the tunnel, she suddenly remembered. The Nopon camp!

"Help is near," Melia murmured. Shulk didn't reply.

Changing direction, she headed for the wall. Easing them both down was a challenge; she had to wrap both arms around Shulk to keep him steady. Even then they both collapsed.

"Why…stop?" Shulk mumbled blearily as she leaned him against the wall.

"I'll be right back," she promised.

Ignoring any potential protest, she stood and hurried through the rest of the tunnel. Smooth rock gave way to snow, and opened into a cavern. Icicles hung on the cave's lip, fangs bared in a snarl at the blizzard raging beyond. Like in a dragon's mouth. Melia shuddered. Although most of the wind and snow were kept at bay, a stray whip of flurries would occasionally burst in.

"Hello?" she called, shielding her face with an arm. "Is anyone there?"

Only darkness answered.

Hand on her staff, she sluggishly focused. "Summon Flare," she whispered. Yellow sparks flashed and fizzled out immediately. Lips tugged down. "Summon Flare." Firmness fell short; it came out as a croak. Nothing, not even a flicker. It was like the air was too wet, almost like the ether wasn't there. Anger, sudden and rash, tore the ether within her and carelessly threw it into the air to catalyze. "Summon Flare!" Flame erupted from the tip of her staff. It illuminated the cave in snatches, shadows snarling. Fleeting, like a rubber band stretched and released, it snapped back, and Melia stumbled. Her foot caught on the ground and she tripped.

Breath steaming, she knuckled her chest. The ache was probably from fading adrenaline.

If Melia felt this bad, she could only imagine Shulk's pain.

"There are crates," she murmured nearly inaudible. "Crates, crates, crates." _And they're seemingly abandoned._

Wariness hugged her tight, and she crawled the rest of the way. Standing felt too vulnerable, like she was opening herself up to attack. The dark pressed down and growled lowly, the kind of growl you could only hear from a seashell.

Splintered wood touched her knuckles. She traced the edges to the top, digging her fingers into the cracks. Skin tore as she pulled, fingertips pulsing numbness. The crate barely acknowledged her efforts. She stood back to catch her breath. Then she jammed her staff into the crack, pushing down. A dull creak. Hurling caution to the raging wind, Melia threw herself onto the staff, legs dangling. It did the trick.

Her yelp was smothered by snow as the lid opened with a loud crack, swinging backwards. The Imperial Staff vaulted over her, performing a quintuple flip, and landing somewhere in the darkness. Melia wiped the sludge off slowly. _I suppose this means I can make Reyn 'eat' his words,_ she thought wryly as she continued searching. _I_ am _heavier than a feather!_

In the crate were mounds of blankets. Melia squinted, shifting closer. Her knee bumped something; it clacked hitting the side of the crate. Reaching down, she felt it and smiled in victory.

Melia twisted a side knob, and the lantern flickered to life.

Shoulders slumping in relief, she hefted it high and screamed.

A Porcu Hox stared at her, jaws parted, eyes rolled at odd angles.

It took her a solid minute to realize the monster was dead; a pelt waiting to be sold.

With calmness she did not feel, she retrieved her staff. Tossing a bolt may've been unlikely, but she could always swing it like a club. She strapped it back to her side, and returned to the crate. Shuddering, Melia extracted the blankets beneath the monster, tucking them close to her chest. They were musty, but dry. A dry blanket could mean the difference between life and death. And under that, fresh and unopen, was a first-aid kit.

Silently thanking the stars, she gathered the supplies to her, and hurried back to the tunnel, praying Shulk hadn't passed out or worse. Her foot caught again in the snow and she stumbled. Instead of falling, she hit something solid and pliable.

They both went down, a pained gasp reaching her ears.

"Shulk?" she asked, lifting the lantern. Pupils, blown wide and disproportionate, blinked rapidly in the light. "Shulk!"

"No loud please," he murmured, squeezing his eyes shut. "Hurts. Light hurts."

"What are you-"

"You screamed." Tiny slivers of blue appeared as he squinted. "Melia, _please_."

Melia placed the lantern somewhat behind her. Weak heat rose to her cheeks. Biting her lip, she brushed his concern off with a wave. "I'm fine. But you're not. And that's good. Well, not good that you're hurt, but you're here now and not-" Realizing she was babbling, Melia sighed, "Sit up please."

Shulk struggled. It was painful to watch. Melia got up, sacrificing Shulk's eyes to the light, and helped him lean against the wall. Kneeling in front of him, she ran her fingertips along his temples. "Tell me when it hurts."

With a groan, Shulk's head pitched forward, landing on her shoulder. Melia stiffened ever-so-slightly as he swallowed dryly. "Everything hurts." –Prodding the back of his head – "Ow."

"I think you have a concussion."

His shoulders were shaking, Melia realized. He was…he was laughing?

"You _think_?" Shulk snorted.

Anger bubbled up. "Oh, I'm _sorry_ I'm not Sharla," she snapped. "I'm _sorry_ you're stuck with me. And furthermore, _what are you doing here_?"

"You-"

"Yes, me. Why you?"

Shulk looked confused.

Maybe she had to be clearer for the concussed.

"Why are you here on Valak Mountain?" Melia asked slowly.

"I could ask you the same thing," Shulk replied, pulling away. He winced, cradling his chest.

 _Oh no._ "Your wounds!" Melia whipped around to gather the supplies where they lay abandoned, and dragged the lantern closer.

"I'm fine," Shulk wheezed.

"No, you're not."

"Yes…I am."

"No."

"Yes."

"You're insufferable!"

"And you're…reckless."

" _I'm_ reckless?" Melia barked a short laugh as she yanked a roll of bandages out. "How am _I_ reckless?" Pouring a generous amount of alcohol on a rag, she dabbed the back of his head with more gusto than intended. Shulk flinched.

"Let's go down the list, shall we?" His voice turned sardonic, biting. "You go off to Valak Mountain without backup of any kind and-" –he paused, sniffing the air – "what are you using?"

Melia looked at the bottle. "I assume some sort of rubbing alcohol."

"It's expired."

"How do you know?' Melia asked, raising a brow.

Shulk gave her a flat look. "Dickson."

There was a lot of weight in that name. Dickson betrayed them all and shot Shulk in the back, yet Shulk still unconsciously spoke his name with traces of fond exasperation.

It angered Melia beyond belief.

"He and Lorithia ran off," she burst out, disgust curling her upper lip.

"Lorithia?" Shulk blinked slowly. "Dickson and…Lorithia?"

 _He doesn't know,_ she realized. How could he? "Dickson accosted us on the way out of Mechonis Core. My brother and his forces showed up. Lorithia released a huge ether wavelength. My people turned." Her sentences were short, clipped.

"Turned?"

Melia looked away. "Into Telethia."

Horror and disbelief permeated the following silence. She crossed her arms, feeling his eyes bore into her. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. She felt exposed and defenseless. _He probably thinks I'll turn into one,_ she thought bitterly. Her lips pursed as her stomach tightened.

"Melia, I…" Shulk began, but stopped. Then of all things, he snapped his fingers and laughed. "So _that's_ why your forefathers looked so different. I mean, natural evolution is one thing, but-"

"It's not funny!" she snapped, eyes flashing to his.

Shulk immediately stopped. "You're right. It's not. I'm sorry, Melia. I was out of line." He hesitated. "Is Kallian…?"

"Gone," she said curtly.

"I'm sor-"

Melia stiffened. " _Don't_."

Shulk fell silent, breath uneven. It reminded Melia of what she was previously doing. Exhaling, she clumsily wrapped the bandages around his head. Shulk reached up to help, but she batted his hands away.

"I had a vision," he said abruptly as Melia finished.

Her hands stilled. "Oh?"

"The monster that attacked us? It was chasing you and-"

"Abaasy," Melia interrupted without thinking. "Its name is Avalanche Abaasy. It's a rather popular monster of bedtime stories in Alcamoth." _Or it was._

"Avalanche Abaasy," Shulk tested out the name.

"The monster parents would warn misbehaving children about. Very notorious for destroying everything in its path."

"Comforting," Shulk deadpanned.

Melia shrugged. "It's not meant to be."

"Good. We're in agreement. As soon as the blizzard stops, we find a way out."

"I can't do that." Melia gestured at his shirt. "Lift please."

"What do you mean 'you can't'?"

"Exactly what I said. Lift your shirt please."

When he made no move to do it, she reached for the hem. He caught her wrist, blue eyes beseeching.

"Melia, please. Whatever you're doing here, it's not worth your life."

"You don't even know what I'm doing."

"Enlighten me, then."

"Lift your-"

"Would you forget about the damn shirt?" Shulk snapped.

Melia eyed him coolly. "So you'd rather bleed to death?"

"I'd rather you _listen_ to me."

"I _am_ listening," she said, glaring. "But what I choose to do with the information is entirely up to me, and I. Am. Staying."

" _Why?"_

"I gave my word, Shulk!" Melia dropped the roll of bandages, and covered her mouth. _Oh no._ She couldn't bring Shulk into this; he'd only get hurt. And if his vision was true, the danger had already heightened. Wait…

"…gave your word?" Shulk tilted his head. "To who?"

"Was there anyone else in your vision?" Melia asked urgently, leaning forward.

He stared at her, face unreadable. "No one else."

Sitting back on her heels, Melia exhaled slowly. "Alright. I can work with that."

 _"Work with?"_ Shulk mouthed to himself, eyes narrowing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself with," she dismissed with a wave.

"Are you joking?" he asked in disbelief. Ignoring her protests, he sat up fuller with a snarl. "That _thing_ nearly _killed_ us! You almost suffocated!" –Melia flinched – "What on Bionis is so important about this fool's errand that-"

"It's not a fool's errand!" she screamed unexpectedly. Her voice bounced off the walls.

Shulk's eyes mirrored hers as they widened. Heat rose to her cheeks. That…hadn't come out like she'd intended. Why couldn't she keep her temper under control? She'd never had trouble before; what changed? It was humiliating. She sounded like a petulant _child_.

Shulk recovered quicker.

"Then what is it?" he bit out.

"I-I," Melia stammered.

 _"Melia."_

"I was given a mission," she admitted finally.

"From who?"

"They wished for their identity to be kept secret." Melia stared hard at him. "I will not break my word."

"Alright," Shulk said, relenting. For now. "What do they want?"

"Recent intel revealed potential locations of High Entia survivors."

"I sense a 'but' in there," Shulk said warily. He paused. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Back up. You didn't think to take anyone with you?"

"Who was there to take?" she threw back at him.

"Uh, _our friends_? You know, the same friends that have your back no matter what?"

"Don't patronize me," Melia snapped. "Did _you_ ever stop and think _why_ I didn't?"

"Why then?" he challenged.

"You were in a coma, Shulk! You died _twice_!" he voice cracked. Wetness pricked her eyes, and she furiously scrubbed it away with the heels of her hands. Why didn't he _understand_ that? She laughed bitterly. "We had no idea if you were going to wake up or not. You want to know _why_ I didn't ask for backup? I didn't want to bother anyone. I didn't want to be _cruel_. What's your excuse?"

"Huh?"

"Why didn't _you_ bring anyone on this 'rescue'?"

Silence. Shulk opened and closed his mouth repeatedly. Embarrassment flashed in blue eyes. "I didn't think," he mumbled. "I was too overwhelmed to think properly." Shoulders slumped. "I'm an idiot."

Melia shook her head. "You are merely too good of a friend… _and_ an idiot," she added, a weak attempt at humor.

Shulk smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We're _both_ idiots."

"Logical," she agreed. "I would not argue that."

"So we check these locations, and then get out?"

"You're going back," Melia said automatically.

"I can't."

Teal eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Shulk scrubbed his face, looking tired. " _Think_. What's the only way out of Valak Mountain?"

"The Sword," she whispered, realization and horror dawning. "Shulk, in the old days, prisoners and traitors were banished to the lower portion of Valak Mountain _because_ there was no way back." She wanted to kick herself. "How are we going to get the survivors back to Colony 6?"

Shulk laughed. It was hollow, tired. "I have no idea."

Claustrophobia hit her hard, breath becoming shallow. Shuffling back, she crossed her arms tightly. Such a poor self-hug. "There _has_ to be a way out."

A hand touched her shoulder. She looked at Shulk, feeling strange and vulnerable. By the stars, why hadn't she thought about _any of this_ -?

"Hey," Shulk murmured. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. First, we need to find the survivors."

"Even if they're Bionite Order members?" she asked in the barest whisper. She hugged herself harder.

Shulk paused, clearly taken aback. The questions raced across his face, but Melia kept her lips clamped shut. "I…" Shaking his head, he squeezed her shoulder. "I trust your judgement. We'll figure something out."

 _If we don't die_ remained unspoken.

* * *

Most of the next morning was spent preparing. They found two backpacks among the crates, one of them Homs-sized. When dug further in, the same crate yielded more blankets and snow gear. Shulk reached in and passed a pair of Ice Climbing Boots to Melia.

"I'm assuming these are the girl pair?" she asked dryly, pointing out the rather unnecessary design.

" _I'm_ assuming they're the pair that'll fit you," Shulk retorted. "We can't all have tiny feet like yours."

Although a part of Melia realized he was teasing, guilt suddenly sprouted. It was her fault they were trapped here. She wouldn't abandon her mission, but…she _wouldn't_ make a fuss over something as silly as footwear.

Falling silent, she sat on another crate and began exchanging shoes. In her peripheral, Shulk kept glancing at her as if uncertain. Melia inwardly squirmed. The tension had been there the moment they'd woken up, but neither of them knew how to break it. Or maybe Melia was imagining it, and kept making things awkward for Shulk.

She finished lacing up the boots. Her finger traced the bumpy butterfly-esque design. Staring for a long moment, Melia decided to spread her own wings.

She looked to Shulk just as he turned around.

"Shulk-"

"Melia-"

They paused, regarding each other uncertainly.

"I just-"

"I didn't-"

Another awkward pause. Melia's tongue felt swollen and clumsy. It was odd, this shyness. She couldn't remember feeling this shy around Shulk when they'd first met. Of course, she'd had a platform of anger and fear to stand on then, so any tolerance she might've had vaporized the moment she opened her eyes and saw him touching her. But Shulk had never demanded an apology, never pushed her for things she hadn't been willing to give. He was a quiet, amiable companion.

And Melia…didn't want to lose that.

The prospect was a little terrifying.

Their argument came to mind, and Melia winced inaudibly.

"You go first," Shulk said quickly.

"Are you sure? I can-"

"Yeah."

Biting her lip, Melia hesitated then nodded. "Based on the coordinates I was given, I've determined our destination is La Luz Church."

"Lawless Church?"

"La Luz," she corrected. Her lips twitched faintly. "Though I suppose you are still correct. 'Lawless' is the colloquial term. Rather fitting, isn't it?"

"I'm guessing the place was popular with criminals?"

"It was an outpost of the Bionite Order," she answered, mouth twisting. "Ironic. The people serving Zanza are the very people I am to rescue."

"As ironic as the guy trying to stop Zanza saving the people who serve him?" Shulk asked wryly, coming to sit beside her on the crate.

Melia shook her head. "That's different. You're less…involved."

Shulk was silent for a long moment. Then, "Do you remember when I stopped Dunban from killing Mumkhar?"

"Yes." She snuck a peek at him. He was leaning back on a hand, face tilted towards the cave's ceiling.

"Sometimes I regret it."

"Stopping him, you mean?"

"Yes and no. There's this…part…of me. The same part that wanted to kill all Mechon, the part that urged me to kill Egil. It's this _ugly_ , unquenchable steep slope that I still can't see the bottom of." Shulk laughed then, a strange strangled bark. "When Fiora was gone, I didn't cope very well. I had my goal, but it wasn't enough. I wanted to _remember_. So The Count started."

Melia remained very still. Shulk wasn't looking at her for which she was grateful. Any tiny movement could potentially stop him; remind him to _whom_ he was talking. His voice had lowered into a rough register like rain beating against a window. It reminded her of stormy days tucked into the villa with a good book.

"It was just a friendly tally with Reyn to see who took down the most Mechon. But it grew into this _obsession_. I wanted – _needed_ to make a mark every day or it felt like I was letting Fiora down. I couldn't sleep if I didn't. I made tally charts for each type of Mechon we encountered. Even one for Face-Mechon. I was waiting, _waiting_ for the day Metal Face would become only a pencil line on a page. I wanted him dead so _badly_." Shulk rolled his shoulders and exhaled shakily. "It never occurred to me there might've been other Faces.

"Before Dunban joined Sharla, Reyn, and I, there was this Bronze-Face who kidnapped Juju. He called himself Xord. When we killed him, I was _happy_. These…monsters weren't invincible. There was a way. But at the same time, I couldn't bring myself to tally him. It felt wrong, but I couldn't explain why.

"Reyn found the list and burned it. He never outright confronted me, but he made it clear he wouldn't tolerate The Count anymore."

Melia found her voice. "Do the others…?"

"No." Shulk shook his head. "Only Reyn." He paused before continuing hoarsely, "I regret stopping Dunban because I wanted Metal Face to _suffer_. I _don't_ regret stopping Dunban because Mumkhar wasn't Metal Face. I mean, he _was_ , but Metal Face was only the costume, and _by the stars_ that doesn't make a lick of sense, does it?"

"You didn't want him to kill a Homs," Melia said softly.

Shulk leaned forward and buried his face in a hand. "Where does the slope end?" he mumbled. "I didn't want Dunban to slip that's all. I should've been stronger."

"To do what?" Vanea's words came back to her. "Wipe out every Mechon in existence? Stop from falling in the first place? Your fight may not have been with Mumkhar, but Dunban's was. You interfered because you care about him."

"I care about you too." He looked up and met her gaze. Her breath caught in her chest. Intense blue eyes were painfully sincere. It made Melia ache.

"That's a mistake," was out before she could stop it. Heat bloomed in her face, and she broke eye contact, staring at the tops of her boots instead.

"Melia…" The consternation in his voice gave her heart the worst kind of flutter, the kind where your organs immediately squeeze together to form a warm knot in your belly, the kind where your hands start to shake, and you wonder if you need to use the restroom. Melia clasped her hands together, and focused on breathing. Shulk seemed at a loss for words. Melia cleared her throat, and used the silence to change the subject.

"What did you want to say? Earlier, I mean."

"Hmm? Oh! I, uh, I wanted to know if the boots fit."

"If my…boots fit?"

"…Yeah."

They both lasted about twenty seconds. Then the absurdity was too much to bear. When Shulk snorted, Melia dissolved into giggles. It slackened the tension hanging like a shadow.

Melia got up and walked a few steps.

"Yes, they fit rather well," she informed Shulk.

Shulk matched her twitching lips. "That's good."

Melia glanced at the cave's mouth. The morning snow was subsiding. "We should be on our way soon. I'll go fill up our water flasks. You finish sorting through the crates. And for the last time, _I_ will be carrying the Homs-sized backpack."

Immediately, Shulk opened his mouth to argue.

Melia snatched the water flasks up and hurried away before the first word was out.

* * *

Shulk wheezed, grabbing the edge of a crate for balance. The wound in his chest pulled uncomfortably. He looked to the tunnel where Melia had disappeared down; she hadn't come back yet. Shulk released the breath he didn't know he was holding. He then allowed himself to sink more of his weight onto the crate, using it as a crutch.

He pushed back his bangs and exhaled roughly.

Truth be told, he didn't know why he told Melia all that. Or maybe he did, and he just didn't want to admit it.

 _"I didn't want to be cruel."_

It frustrated him Melia still thought of herself as an outsider. That she still thought she'd be rejected. Maybe telling her about The Count was impulsive, but he needed her trust. Not just to survive the mountain, but as a friend and comrade.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling an oncoming migraine.

Refocusing, Shulk resumed his task albeit slowly as his stitches pulled and stretched. He knelt next to the last crate, tipped on its side, contents strewn across the ground. Most of it was unusable, but it never hurt –his chest protested sharply – to look. As he pushed some blankets aside, his fingers brushed a hard edge. It felt like animal skin. Curious, he withdrew it.

It was a journal. Shulk flipped to a random page.

Wow, and people thought _he_ had terrible handwriting.

He got up and moved closer to the lantern light, sitting on the crate again. Research notes, research notes, and more research notes. From what he could decipher, the Nopon team had been studying the ecosystem, specifically the Antols. Each page had a very accurate ink rendering of the wildlife. Absently, he flipped through the pages. One in particular caught his eye.

An Antol corpse lay on the ground in two pieces. On closer inspection, its midsection looked like it had been melted through, its remaining eye staring blankly. Frowning, Shulk's eyes travelled to the entry above the picture.

 _XX/XX/XXXX_

 _Found corpse of old female Antol (antennae still intact, gender decipherable). Separated from tribe or driven out? Mating season soon. Females get especially aggressive, typically more at the males. No room for weak. Interesting/unusual. Older females usually revered. Enemy attack? Too old to run?_

 _Thorax completely melted. Intestines gone as well._

 _Hypothesis: attacked by unknown predator with acid_

 _Collecting samples._

 _~Dakuku_

"Huh," Shulk mumbled. "Wonder what could've done it." He turned the page. It was the same day, only at a later time.

 _Samples being processed. Other corpses found on the way back to camp. The air hung heavy. Smelled odd too. Like burnt oil and markers. Friend's cooking comes to mind. ….hope she doesn't read this. I digress. Oddly quiet. No signs of patrolling Chilkin. Planning raid? On who?_

 _Stomach feels bad. Not just from bad food._

 _~Dakuku_

 _XX/XX/XXXX_

 _Samples still being processed. Antols very aggressive. Attempted to evade, split Nopon into two groups. Antols chased us back. Luckily no injuries. No progress made today. Cause of increased aggression still unknown. It's odd though. We were nowhere near their territory. Are they expanding? Unknown predator?_

 _Worth investigating._

 _~Dakuku_

There wasn't even a date on the next page. Just furious scribbles Shulk had to squint to make it out.

 _Good for nothing rookie! Impetuous littlepon! How can he not tell difference between sample and food? They're not even same colors! Anger does not begin to cover how much this set us back. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Assistant leader is watching rookie now. She wants to make sure he suffers no side effects. Serves him right if he did!_

 _X/X/XXXX_

 _Few days have passed. Still no progress with field research. Antols are closer every day. Team has been getting restless. Had to stop a few comfort-food feasts. Lectured on importance of rations. Shut down protests. Still some grumbling. They look like I'm the problem! They know nothing. Leadership is hard. Especially with the other samples tainted. Some Nopon left them exposed. Now the cave smells._

 _They whisper behind my back._

 _X/X/XXXX_

 _Assistant leader wants to evacuate. Rations are low. Nopon complain about headaches. Rookie throwing up. Shadows stalk the walls. Every light hurts the eyes. Antols draw ever closer. Nearly lost one Nopon. She ran outside, complaining of the heat. It's very hot. Some Nopon scratch at themselves. Lots of shed fur. Each piece daggers into my side when sleeping._

 _Saliva drips from the ceiling. Need to escape. Need to escape. Need to escape. Need to escape. Need to escape. Need to escape. Need to escape. Need to escape. Need to escape. Need to escape. Need to escape. Need to escape. Need to escape. Need to-_

The next two pages were nothing but those three words. Each reiteration became sloppier and loopier, sliding across the paper as if on ice. Pages were torn out in various capacities. Dakuku wrote in spurts and flashes.

 _It's here. I know it is. It whispers to me._

 _Stay. Come hither._

 _Idiot! Dumb, dumb, dumb! Need to lea-_

 _No, curved horns on the walls. So much to do. Where are-_

 _Rookie, rookie is no bookie, sad and small and going KOOKIE!_

 _Pincers sliding into meat, hot warm sauce. Stay. Come here. Stay. Come here._

 _It's cold. So cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold. Assistant becoming persistent. Need to leave. Evacuation plans in effect._

The last few pages were blank. Pristine even. A crumpled paper fell out. Shulk reached down, and picked it up, smoothing out the crinkles. It was a map of some sort, showing…a river? Tunnels? Certain parts were numbered. No other notations.

Shulk flipped it over.

Inked eyes stared up at him with slanting precision. Underneath was written:

 _The Cold One watches._

Carefully, Shulk folded the paper, and tucked it into a pocket to study later. He turned his attention back to the journal, and flipped to the beginning.

That was always a good place to start.

* * *

Melia corked the last flask and sighed. The water reflected her grimace.

" _Only Reyn."_

She…didn't know how to take Shulk's admission. Should she be flattered? Concerned? If she applied what she knows now, certain behaviors made sense. As she got to know Shulk, she noticed his ink stained fingertips. She noticed his notebook, a simple brown and leather bound. She would discreetly watch him write or sketch –rarely with a pencil – and how his bottom lip would inevitably be drawn back by curious teeth.

Now she wondered.

Shulk liked red. It fit him like no other color. He wore red. He fought –formerly - with a red sword. He grabbed the red bowl when they ate dinner at Riki's. He gravitated towards red armor while shopping even if it fit someone else. He often wrote his notes in a dark red. It didn't occur to Melia until Central Factory how similar in color the ink was to the oil that pooled under slain Mechon. Even then, it was only a brief fleeting thought, instantly dismissed. But now she wondered.

He also liked keeping things. Salvaged Mechon parts, samples of flora and fauna, and spare armor sets. A mild hoarder, but he _did_ end up using what he kept. Eventually. _Just in case_ was always the excuse. Yet Melia had once noticed several pages missing, ripped hastily from the spine. Shulk never got a second notebook. He'd squeeze his rather atrocious handwriting into the corners and in between lines. But he never started fresh. Day or night, conscious or unconscious, he always touched its cover, fingernails tracing the edges. Melia had just assumed he was very studious and didn't want to lose his Collectopaedia data. Clearly the journal had sentimental value. Perhaps it served as a reminder. Now she wondered if it was punishment.

She understood punishment.

It followed her everywhere.

Melia inhaled sharply, scrubbing at her face with her palms. She stared at the water as she centered herself. A dull silhouette reflected her movements. Touching the water disrupted its stillness. Sadness and uncertainty rolled off the silhouette as the water moved. Melia withdrew her fingers, and shook her head.

There was no time to dwell.

Scooping up the flasks, she stood and began feeling her way back through the tunnel. Shulk's outline came into view when she reached the tunnel mouth. The bags lay forgotten at his feet as he flipped through something in his hands, mouth moving silently. Melia hesitated. It was ridiculous, this sense of unease. Shulk was still the same person. But hardened eyes matching alien blue light lingered in her thoughts. She watched the shadow of his hands. And wondered.

How many times had those hands turned cruel?

She wanted to sit down and analyze his entire battle history. She wanted to press for details. She wanted –needed – no, she was just so… _relieved_.

Finally, someone understood.

The urge to lash out, hit, cut, beat – the urge to _hurt_.

Consuming anger, fear, and hurt. Twisting and roiling. Taking and taking and taking.

Melia swallowed.

She had stared into the abyss before; it enticed and whispered sweet sickening nothings. And like Shulk, she couldn't see the bottom.

The flasks creaked as her grip tightened.

A dizzying rush of anticipation flooded her senses. Closing her eyes, Melia concentrated on breathing (she just realized she'd been close to hyperventilating). Focus. _Focus._

She strode forward, putting a confidence she didn't feel into her step.

"What did you fin-" Her face abruptly made acquaintances with the snow. _Again_.

The book shut and footsteps hurried over. "Are you alright?" Shulk asked, concerned.

Melia sat up and slowly wiped the snow from her face. "I am wonderful," she said dryly. Looking down, she suddenly scowled. If her overlapping footprints were anything to go by, she had tripped in the _exact same place_ no less than four times! "I'll toss the blasted rock into the lake," she muttered.

"What?"

"Pay no mind." Melia waved off Shulk. She sat her knees, and started digging through the snow. "What did you find?" she asked, nodding to the book tucked under his arm.

"One of the researchers' journal. They cut off their original research to study a spike in ether patterns."

Melia paused at that, looking over her shoulder. "That can't be right. Valak Mountain barely has raw ether deposits. There's not enough for anything _to_ fluctuate."

"The Bionis reawakening could have something to do with it," Shulk mused. "Zanza is pooling as much ether as he can."

"Even so. I may not be a scientist, but as an Elemental Summoner, I need to be attuned to my environment at all times. And subsequently that means differentiating the ether wavelengths in the air and ground, and deciding which one could be used in a potential attack."

"I thought ether arts came from the self."

"They _do_ , but there's more to it." Melia shook her head. "It really depends on what ether art you're using. Generally, they're sorted into two categories: Inner Ether and Outside Ether. Light Heal, for example, is an inner ether art. You're generating spare ether from within and either redirecting it in your body to heal yourself or projecting out to heal someone else. The same goes for your other ether arts. Shadow Eye decreases your ether, making you less of a target. Monsters cannot see what is not there."

"And while Battle Soul absorbs my health, it also charges my Talent Art," Shulk concluded. He hummed thoughtfully. "Ether is the building block of all living things. Battle Soul takes from me in order to make enough ether for the attack." He frowned. "That could be a problem if used too frequently."

"Inner ether arts are rather dangerous," Melia admitted. "They can very easily kill or cripple you."

"What about outside ones?"

She frowned. "On its own, outside ether is unpredictable and difficult to control. Think of it as raw material. With training, you could identify different elemental wavelengths, and learn to calculate mass and distance before catalyzing," she trailed off, shrugging a shoulder. "Basically, it's like chemistry."

Shulk stared at her, chin propped in his palm. "Chemistry, huh?" A new kind of respect shone in his eyes.

Melia looked away. "It's nothing really."

"Are you joking? Melia, that's _amazing_. I mean, it's one thing to run experiments in a lab, but in battle?" Shulk whistled low. "When this is all over, let's sit down somewhere, and you can walk me through it."

"I'd like that." Melia smiled shyly. She went back to digging through the snow. "What else did the journal say?"

"The last entry was two weeks ago. Thing is, this whole change of study? Took place a whole _month_ before Mechonis Core. If the Bionis reawakening did have something to do with all the behavioral changes in monsters or in the weather, it only sped things up. It kept mentioning ' _the Cold One_ ' devouring all ether. I don't know-"

"Shulk." Her voice was soft, yet it sliced right through his words.

He stopped. Perhaps he noticed the off-ness of her tone, or the way her back tensed. "Melia?"

"They never got out."

"What are you talking-"

Melia swept back the snow. Shulk's breath caught sharply.

"The Nopon, they-" She shook her head. "Shulk, they never _left_."

* * *

Skin split and cracked as knuckles accosted granite. It barely stung. Shulk pulled back and punched the wall a second time.

Fingers dug into the crook of his elbow and tugged insistently. He let his arm go limp in Melia's grip. Her fingers loosened, but didn't abandon post entirely. Melia stood between him and the wall. Her wings shivered, her breath misted the air in a shaky exhale. She didn't speak.

They had found a tarp to wrap the bodies in. Or what remained of them. The only whole body was the one Melia had found, and its chest was caved in, dull purple fur crusty to the touch. _Trampled,_ his mind whispered clinically. _Then left to freeze._

Melia had scrambled away. Retching echoed in the cave, but it was all dry heaves. There wasn't anything to throw up; they hadn't eaten breakfast. Thoughts drifting back to the present, Shulk hauled himself over, and pressed one of the flasks into her hands. Melia clutched it tightly, the skin over her knuckles shifting minutely. Gasps hissed out of her mouth, and Shulk automatically placed a hand on her back.

"Easy," he whispered. His free hand shook.

Slowly, her breathing evened and she rinsed her mouth.

"We need to find the others."

"We don't have time-"

"We'll make the time." His voice was hard.

She looked at him for a long moment. Then she nodded.

They had combed the cave.

Their plans of leaving early morning were no longer feasible. The rare sun rose high, light bouncing off the snow. Shulk stared at the blinding patches. They were almost painful to look at. Maybe if he stared long enough, he'd burn the unwanted images out of his retinas. He stared and felt angry.

And tired.

"I don't know Nopon funeral customs," he said, breaking the silence.

"Nor I," Melia replied quietly.

"It feels wrong to just leave them."

"I know."

Shulk scrubbed his face with a fist. "So much needless death."

"Indeed."

He shot her a side-eyed glance. Stupid question, but: "Are you alright?"

She started as if coming out a reverie. She dragged her face up and met his gaze. Teal eyes were dark, a storm brewing. Instead of answering, she merely tilted her head and asked, "Shulk?" It was as innocuous as it was chilling.

"Yeah?" He swallowed dryly.

"When we fight Zanza, I would like you to promise me something."

He fully turned his body to show he was listening. Melia took a step closer.

"When we fight Zanza," she said, slow and deliberate. "Lorithia is _mine_." The last word was snarled.

Several arguments sprang to mind. He recognized the glint in her eyes. He recognized himself. "Melia-"

"I trust you," she said simply.

 _Pull me back before I slide too deep._

Lost for words, Shulk just shook his head. "It won't come to that."

Melia tore her gaze away, looking out the cave. "You don't know that."

 _"It won't."_

In a rare show of initiation, Melia reached out and took his hand. "I trust you," she repeated softly, squeezing his fingers before letting go. She didn't look at him, ears tipped red.

Shulk blew out his breath, but didn't protest anymore.

Melia nodded sharply. "Let's go."

The sun enveloped her. Just like the snow, light reflected off her wings and hair. She blended in, yet stood out with her flushed cheeks and heavy parka, bringing the ethereal down to Bionis.

Shulk stared after her, lips parted oh-so-slightly.

Then he shook his head and followed.

* * *

They chose the south route.

Melia felt conflicted. A cloud of mist yawned from her mouth as she exhaled. Was she warm or cold? For the first time, the sky above was clear, no cloud in sight. The sun took full advantage. It beat on her head, and her parka felt stifling. Yet the wind was relentlessly sandpaper-on-skin rough. Her entire face was numb, and her eyes felt bloodshot.

After last night's blizzard, the snow reached her knees. The snow pants helped, but Melia could feel the wetness clinging and seeping. Like a crying child clutching her leg tightly and…

…and she was going to stop that thought right there. Delirium was a symptom of hypothermia. As well as confusion and stumbling.

Despite being taller, Shulk struggled just as much. Melia took the smallest amount of consolation from that.

"Do you think Abaasy is still around?" Shulk puffed.

"Trying not to think about it," Melia muttered. Even so, her eyes unconsciously flitted to the sky.

"Denial won't help anything."

"I'm in denial about that too."

Shulk snorted.

Melia's lips twitched before she turned serious. "If Abaasy appears, we run."

"I like that plan."

"I thought you might."

"One problem."

"Hmmm?" Melia glanced at Shulk to see him pointing. She followed his finger; a dark shape loomed beyond. Cautiously approaching the edge of the cliff, she stared. "Oh, you have got to be joking."

Said dragon lay curled up at the base of the lowest cliff. From their vantage point, they could see its head was down, but its tail swished.

Without missing a beat, Melia reached over and smacked Shulk's arm.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Jinxing the situation."

Shulk rubbed his arm. "Should we turn back and go the other way?"

"No, it would take too long." Melia studied its position. "If we had gone the other way, we'd have to cut straight across its field of vision."

"Where exactly is La Luz Church?"

Melia bit her lower lip. "This is the general area, but other than that, I have no idea."

To his credit, Shulk didn't bat an eye. "Hidden entrance?"

"Most likely."

"It'd be our luck if Abaasy was sitting on it."

Melia shot him a pointed glare, hand twitching.

Shulk shifted away, raising his hands. "I'm _just_ saying."

"Come on." She stalked past him.

They carefully picked their way down the cliffs. Once they reached one just above Abaasy, they paused. Without a word, they dropped down and slid to the edge on their bellies. Dark scales contrasted sharply with the snow. Abaasy lay on its side, long neck down and curved like a coiled rope. Melia looked beyond at the flatness of the land. No covering whatsoever.

The monster had the perfect vantage point.

But its eyes were closed.

Melia and Shulk exchanged looks. _Asleep?_ Melia mouthed, making a pillow gesture with her hands.

Shulk just shrugged. He tapped his parka emphatically, then at the snow. The coats they had found were off-white. They could be reasonably camouflaged from a distant perspective. Melia nodded, but flicked her eyes to the sun pointedly. Shulk winced.

Valak Mountain was a wintry wasteland, the sun a foreigner. The brightness would undoubtedly attract attention despite their gear.

Shulk gestured between them, pointed to the wall, and then held his left hand in a chopping position. With his other hand, he used two fingers to make a scurrying motion along his left.

Melia bit her lip, but nodded her assent. Risky, but any plan involving Abaasy was risky.

There wasn't a choice.

Carefully, they backed away from the edge, and stood. Something glinted. Melia turned back to the dragon. For a moment, she thought it was Abaasy's claws caught in the sun, but the object was too small and weirdly shaped. Dodging Shulk's grab, she walked back to the edge and squinted.

"Melia!" Shulk whispered urgently. "We need to _go_."

"What is that?" she murmured, practically kneeling on the edge. It looked like... was that a –?

Abaasy shifted, back hitting the cliff, and rubbing up and down as if scratching an itch. The impact vibrated up the rock. Snow slid.

Melia lost her balance.

A shriek-turned-gasp tore out of her lungs as she slid/fell haphazardly. Displacement of air; Shulk made a frantic dive for her. He missed, and rock dust flew into her eyes. Landing on her side knocked the wind out of her. Bruises complained about bruises. Coughing, she blinked watery eyes and pushed herself to her knees.

Hands brushed scales.

Breath hitching, teal eyes darted up.

Red ones stared back.

Metallic flooded her mouth as startled teeth pierced her lower lip. She scrambled backwards; the monster's hide rose and fell rhythmically. Slow and rhythmic. Almost as if…

Peering closely at its eyes, Melia blinked once. Twice.

She looked up at Shulk, pointed at Abaasy, and made the pillow gesture. Shulk, poised halfway off the edge, stared at her, mouthing _'How?'_ Melia shrugged.

It wasn't unheard of among the High Entia to sleep with eyes open. Just really…creepy.

Breathing deeply to calm her nerves, Melia pointed at Shulk and twirled her finger. He nodded slowly, clearly in thought. Flicking his eyes to the dragon, he gave her a pointed look, one hand reaching up to grab the Monado's hilt. Melia shook her head rapidly, making the twirling gesture more insistent. Shulk, reluctant, disappeared from the edge.

Melia rubbed her forehead, eyeing Abaasy between her fingers. There was no guarantee a one shot (because, to be honest, that was all they would _get_ ) sneak attack would kill it. Too risky. Melia blew out her breath in a shaky exhale. That didn't mean it wasn't tempting.

* * *

Shulk was many things: fighter, friend, comrade, _scientist_ …

A manicurist was _not_ one of them.

He stared at Melia in disbelief. "You want me to do _what_?"

"Keep your voice down," she hissed, shooting Abaasy a nervous look. Shulk was sorely tempted to wake the dragon if only to avoid the indignity of using the Monado like a _nail file_. "I think there's something in its claws."

"You mean cuticles?"

" _Shulk_."

"Alright, alright! I'm going, jeez." He strode over to the nearest set of claws and studied it. Abaasy lay on its side, arms sprawling. Its claws, thick and gray, curved down and deep in the ground like a child clutching a blanket. There were tiny spaces in between each claw, and Shulk inched as close as he dared, peeking in. At first, he couldn't see anything. As his eyes adjusted, something glinted. Kneeling, Shulk reached through the crack. His cheek pressed against one of the claws and he grimaced. Its texture felt like very fine straw pieces held together by water.

His hand touched…cloth? Pulling it out, his eyes widened.

"Melia," he called, holding it up.

Melia craned her neck and stared. "That's a headdress from Alcamoth!" Her fingers unconsciously strayed to her feathers.

"There was something else, but I can't reach it."

Melia gave him a look.

He threw his arms up. "Alright! I'll use the Monado." Stashing the headdress in his bag, he grumbled under his breath, " _Sure_ , I'll just poke the thing with concentrated ether. That won't wake it up." He drew his sword and worked it between the claws.

The ground rumbled.

Shulk froze. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

He held very still.

"Shulk?"

"I think we might be in for an earthquake," he said with a calm he did not feel.

"Are you sure?"

The ground rumbled right on cue. Shulk switched his attention back to his task, shoving the Monado in as far as it could, the tip scrapping the ground…there! He edged the object towards him, and snatched it up just as another reverberation knocked him on his rear. He looked wild-eyed at Melia. "C'mon! It won't notice now if you jump."

"I-"

" _Mel_ -" He grabbed the Monado's hilt and promptly forgot how to breathe. The airborne ether…it was being sucked away, evaporating into a nothingness that was dry, dense, and _cold_.

 _Mum. Dad._

And the Monado _reacted._

Green metal parted as blue light erupted through the center. It didn't crackle and spark like the original; a haze seeped out, spiraling around the blade like ice fire. It drew him to his feet, cutting up through scale, muscle, _bone_ –

Abaasy woke with a shriek.

The severed claw missed Shulk by a centimeter as it slumped to the ground, kicking up a wave of snow. Shulk leaned over the Monado, breathing heavily. Where had _that_ come from?

"Spear Break! Ha!"

Dragging his eyes up, he watched as if from underwater as Melia raced forward, and jabbed her staff into the base of Abaasy's neck. Hot breath snorted from above, and Abaasy's head reared back with a choke. _Oh._ The near-miss jolted him. Strained gray edges faded and sound came back. Visions weren't coming; his eyes burned.

A scream. Shulk's head whipped up in time to see Melia trip and tumble back. Abaasy shot down, incisors gleaming –

"Melia!" _Speed. Speed!_ The Monado's haze shot towards her, encompassing her body. "Melia, _move_!"

She rolled away just in time. Hands scrabbling for purchase, she got to her feet and ran at Abaasy's lowered head. Without losing stride, she jumped and planted both feet. "STARLIGHT KICK!" she shouted, using one of its horns as a springboard. Abaasy's head shot back, colliding with the cliff.

It was toppled.

Sheathing the Monado, Shulk sprinted, collapsing to his knees and skidding with arms wide open as Melia fell. She landed awkwardly on top of him, head whacking his chin and giving him a mouthful of feathers. "And you thought we couldn't pull off a sneak attack," Shulk coughed. He knuckled his chest. Perhaps that hadn't been the smartest idea.

Melia looked beyond frazzled. Hair and feathers stuck out haphazardly, teal eyes wide and nostrils flared.

It would've been hilarious if the situation weren't so dire.

"It won't stay toppled for long," was all she said, getting to her feet. She walked like she favored her right ankle.

"Are you alright?" Shulk asked, getting up and following her.

"No, yes, I-" she blew out her breath roughly. "My ankle is just a little numb. It's fine. We're fine. Let's _go_."

"No complaints from me." He wrapped an arm around her waist. Surprisingly, there were no protests; she merely draped an arm over his shoulders. "By the way, I found this." He passed the other object to her.

"That's a Bionite Order mask," she murmured. "They're here. They're really _here_." The mask slipped from loose fingers as she shivered.

"Okay," Shulk said, catching her before she pitched forward. "C'mon, we need to keep going. One foot after the other, that's it." Worry prickled. Their progress was excruciatingly slow. Snow and fatigue injured their path. Shulk found himself having to support more of Melia's weight as she staggered alongside him. His chest stretched and burned, but he did his best to ignore it.

He was forced to pause when the ground rumbled once again, more violent than the last. Not wanting to fall on his rear, Shulk tugged Melia down with him and hugged her close. "We're going to find them," he practically hummed into her hair. The tremors rattled his bones and teeth; he didn't want to risk biting his tongue off. "And then we're going home." Her hand clutched his parka.

He looked for a place to hide. Somewhere, _anywhere_ would be fine. Ose Tower was too far; the best he could hope for was some sort of alcove in the ice cliff, but _where_? He stared blankly at one such wall, mind racing with possibilities.

Then the wall…shifted?

Shulk blinked.

No, that wasn't a wall _at all_ , more like a pillar. Focusing brought it into greater detail; he was able to spot the rough outline of a building fifty feet above if he craned his neck and squinted. "Uh, Melia? I think I just found La Luz Chur –"

A screech pierced straight through the tremors. Shulk gave himself whiplash turning his head so fast.

Abaasy was standing. And looking very, _very_ angry. Or maybe that was just its normal face. Its head weaved from side to side as if shaking it or looking for them. Blood gushed from its wound, pouring down in torrents, and melting the snow with toxic-sizzling bubbles.

Shulk made a mental note to self: find very big Band-Aid.

Melia pushed out of his hold, and stood with the help of her staff. "This ends _now_ ," she snarled. "Summon Bolt!"

A tiny spark, nothing more.

Snarling, Melia closed her eyes and went still. A minty-blue light emerged from the center of her chest, encompassing her shoulders and running down her arms. Shulk watched with wide eyes. Was this inner ether?

Biting his lip, Shulk looked between Melia and Abaasy. Despite the approaching monster, Melia remained calm and focused, light streaming into her staff. The elemental ball at the head grew and shrank; mint blue and crackling blue fighting for dominance. _She's catalyzing,_ he realized with startled fascination.

He wanted to watch, but a glance back at Abaasy told him that wasn't possible. Reluctantly, he turned away and drew the Monado.

He'd buy her time.

Like Melia, focusing on his limited ether arts required him to remain motionless. It took a different kind of concentration; like switching off the light and watching the night light slowly flicker to life. He felt his ether, humming yet still to the touch. Unlike Melia, however, he couldn't physically manifest it. But he could manipulate it within his own body.

"Shadow's Eye," he whispered, lowering his hand. It helped, making simple motions and guiding his ether wherever he wanted.

Coiling into a tight ball, his ether dropped, dispersing into hazy remnants.

Shulk sprinted forward, abdomen tightening in an effort to _hold_ the ether there. Abaasy met him halfway, and he ducked the reflexive tail swipe, rounding off to the side. The dragon paused, slit eyes roving the area. Shulk remained perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe.

Growling, its attention switched to Melia in the distance. Fire built beneath its scales.

Shulk struck.

"Slit Edge," he cried, jabbing it in the leg.

The flames missed him by the barest of margins; he rolled out of the way, circling around the dragon once more. He varied the intensity of his attacks, trading heavy hits for quick flurries. They barely left a scratch. Breathing became a challenge as he dodged claws and tail.

He honestly didn't know _how_ he managed to survive without his visions.

Abaasy grew increasingly erratic with every set of attacks. With a roar, it spewed fire and spun in a circle. Dodging was out of the question; there was really only one way. It wasn't the position Shulk wanted, but he jumped anyway.

"Back Sla-"

He couldn't move; he couldn't _breathe_. Abaasy, having caught him mid-jump, squeezed his torso. The tips of claws dug into his thighs. Pain, blinding _pain_. Shulk choked. Something inside was _giving_.

"VERTICAL BOLT!"

The blast shot past his ear with the faintest tickle-singe, and caught Abaasy full in the face.

Shulk felt the vacuum of space as he was released. Ears ringing, sheer instinct had his eyes glance over in time for his body to catch the full force of Abaasy's tail. Impact, eerily numb the first split second, sent him flying. Hit at a downward angle, it didn't take long for the ground to greet him.

Shulk skidded and tumbled. Neck screaming, shoulders twisting every way _possible…_ finally rolling to a halt. He lay nearly face down, struggling to breathe. Coughing, wheezing, warm liquid dribbled down his chin. Everything hurt so _badly_.

Getting to his knees felt like being hit by Xord's hammer. He eventually gave up, rolling onto his back instead. A rock ceiling greeted him. Shulk blinked.

This…this was a cave? Why hadn't they seen it befo-

Was that a ledge?

The image of the church flitted through his mind. Maybe…

"Melia!" he yelled, trying not to heave a lung out. "I found the entrance!"

A shriek.

"No need to thank me."

"Shu _uuuuulllllkkkkkk!"_

Before he could convince his body to move, Melia collided into him, limbs askew. Shulk got kicked in the face. And punched in the crotch.

 _Oh kill me now._

Melia gingerly picked herself up. Realizing she was facing the wrong way, she rotated until both hands were on either side of Shulk's head.

"Shulk? Are you alright?"

"Mmmmuuuuurrgghh."

"There's no time. We need to move."

"Ah ah ah ahaha."

"Shulk!"

"Melia," he whispered. "For the love of the stars, _get off_."

Melia's weight left him, and he was free to curl into the fetal positon.

"Shulk?"

He groaned.

"Are you-" A pause. "Oh. _Oh_."

Shulk peeked up. Melia, bright red, stared where his hands were clutching.

"Sorry," she squeaked then coughed. "I, uh, I assume you need a minute?"

What came out of his mouth was hardly intelligible. It was also drowned out by a _very_ angry dragon.

"Never mind," Melia said, grabbing him under the arms. "Shulk, let's _go_."

"Coming," he said weakly. With Melia's help, he was able to stand, and they hobbled over to the wall.

"Will you be able to climb?" Melia asked, looking between him and the handholds.

"Yeah," he wheezed. "Yeah, I'm good." No, no he wasn't. But adrenaline pushed that aside. He grabbed the lowest handhold, and hauled himself up. Melia followed after making sure he wouldn't fall.

They forced all the speed they could while remaining relatively safe. _Faster,_ Melia thought, _faster!_ She was about a foot below Shulk, and she glimpsed him disappearing over the ledge. Rocks were crumbling at an increasing rate, pebbles pelting her face as the cave wall shook under Abaasy's assault. _Focus. Focus on climbing._ She grabbed the next handhold, one right below the ledge, Shulk reaching down to help-

The rock in her grip fell away, and there was a terrifying second-stretched-eternity of nothingness as she fell back, entire center of gravity _off-_

-abruptly stopped, tendons screaming, bones popping as her momentum worked against her, placing all the weight on her-

" _Melia!"_

Blinking back tears, Melia looked up. Shulk gripped her wrist, skin-cracked, veiny knuckles whitening. He was shouting something. Her ears listened on autopilot, mind still reeling from the close-call. But it clicked, and Melia reached up with her free hand, and clasped his wrist. Shulk, shifting his weight, began pulling her clear. Her feet scrabbled at the wall, trying to find some sort of purchase to help.

Knees hitting the edge, she was finally able to semi-crawl to safety. She fought through her lingering panic, Shulk's arm providing a suitable rock.

She hated heights. She hated heights with a burning fiery passion.

Shulk dragged her to her feet. " _C'mon!"_

Melia stumbled after him. The ledge led them back out into the sun; she could see the tall spires of the church.

"You go first," Shulk said, nudging her forward. She looked at him uncomprehendingly then at the ledge. It wrapped around the mountain, but narrowed for long stretches at some parts. It didn't look safe.

She looked at Abaasy; the ledge placed them a good two feet above its head. It clawed at the mountain, determined to trap and crush them inside. How long before it looked up and saw them?

"Melia, _go_!"

Melia went. A sob stuck somewhere in her throat, she darted forward, gliding one hand along the icy rock. Three-quarters of the way, the church loomed in its forbidding, glacial beauty. She turned her head to Shulk, but he wasn't there. A suctioning drew all the ether in the air past her, drying her cheeks and eyes. Blinking rapidly, she realized Shulk hadn't followed at all.

"Shulk!" Her shout was lost in the wind.

He stood back at the beginning of the path. Blue light engulfed him, concentrated around his feet, but it didn't fully register because Abaasy's head snapped up like a beacon had been lit. Shulk threw a snowball. It smashed into the monster's neck, melting instantly as familiar red rose beneath the scales.

And Shulk. Wasn't. Moving.

" _Shulk!"_

Fire, heat so intense Melia could feel it from where she stood, swarmed and consumed. Rocks cracked and ice hissed. She barely managed to close her eyes as a blast of steam hit her. Heart in throat, she clung to the wall, fingers scraping and bleeding until something heavy collided into her. "Smoke screen," Shulk murmured into her ear, hand over her mouth. "Come on."

Melia could only nod dumbly. She resolved to punch him later.

Unwilling to waste their advantage, they hurried the rest of the way. Jets of fire burst through the steam at random. They ducked low and ran. Rock gave way to stainless steel with a clay-like texture. Melia reached the door.

And realized a very crucial problem.

"Why is there a lock?" Melia pounded on the door. "Hello! Can anyone hear me? We're here to help!" She pressed her ear to the stone desperately. A beat passed then two….there! Through the wind's howls and flapping of giant wings, she thought she heard muffled noises within. She pounded the door again. "Please! Let us in!"

"Tell them to get away from the door," Shulk said suddenly.

"What?" Melia hissed, glaring at him. "They're our only way in!"

"Do it." His eyes weren't looking at her, but up. " _Now_!"

The force behind the command surprised her. Melia turned back to the door. "Get away from the door!" she shouted. "I repeat, get _away_ from the door!" She turned to face Shulk, shivering. "Now what?"

He inched closer, and looped an arm around her waist. Melia flinched at the unexpected touch. His hold tightened. "Have you ever played the game Chicken?"

The question was so random, Melia couldn't help being bemused. "I can't say I have."

He still wasn't looking at her, intent on the dragon folding its wings back in preparation of diving. Melia had to agree with the mentality. Never turn your back on a threat.

"It's a game Reyn and I used to play," Shulk said with a faint smile. "We'd run at full speed towards each other, and whoever stopped first was the 'chicken.' Reyn had brute strength on his side-" –Abaasy dove – "-but I'd wait until just the right moment-" His eyes widened. "-like _now_." Quickly, he hauled her away from the entrance. Melia only registered her wings being smooshed before Shulk's body pressed flush against hers, pinning her to the icy wall.

Not a second after, an enormous tail lashed mere inches from where they stood, effectively breaking the ancient door down. Melia could only hope the survivors had heard her warning. Snow fell from the higher levels, and passed over them with a rumble. The reverberation through rock shook her entire body, rattling her bones and heart. Gasping, Melia wrapped both arms around Shulk and pressed impossibly closer, frantic to get away from the sensation, careful not knock them off the ledge. She might've whimpered. Shulk's heart beat rapidly in her ear. The snow kept coming. They'd be buried alive.

That terrified her. It also spurred her into action.

"Shulk!" she screamed. "My staff...I can…" She was afraid if she released her death grip on him, the snow would throw him off the mountain.

Thankfully, Shulk seemed to understand. Fingers fumbled at her left side. Despite the situation, Melia giggled hysterically when he accidentally pressed a sensitive spot. Gritting her teeth, she tightened her left hand's grip on him, and squeezed her right between their bodies. There was a brief, frightening moment of nothing –did he drop it? – then cold metal was pressed into her hand. She closed her fingers around it, reassured by the weight.

She concentrated, jabbing the butt into the ground between them. Wind gathered and compressed into an ether ball at the tip of her staff. Usually her wind summoning had a distinct carefree trait to it. But now, as if sensing the raw, primal urge to _live,_ the wind spun faster in its ball, spitting and wrathful. _No!_ She didn't want to attack, just defend. Focusing, she forced her will over her emotions, and carefully released the ether. Instead of lashing out, the wind enveloped her and Shulk, forming their little eye of the storm. The snow ran over their barrier like rain on a roof. Melia breathed deeply to maintain it.

Then…then finally, _miraculously_ the snow tapered off. It was a long, long pause before either of them dared move. Exhaling shakily, Melia let the wind barrier dissipate, and started to step back.

Shulk stopped her. "Give me a minute." He was shaking; they were both shaking whether from adrenaline, the cold, or a mixture of both, Melia didn't know. "J-Just…give me a minute."

She held still. Preternaturally still as she became very, very aware of their proximity. She coughed, mind casting around for anything to say; Shulk didn't seem inclined to let her go anytime soon. Face heating up, her wings twitched anxiously. Secretly, in an embarrassing corner of her mind, she basked in the attention. Guilt and shame lingered around the edges, and she gnawed her lower lip. Her eyes glanced at the demolished entrance.

Abruptly, she giggled.

Shulk looked at her quizzically.

"Vindictive, weren't you?" Melia teased. "Reyn," she clarified at his confused look.

Understanding came, and Shulk cracked a grin. "He always got up right after. Fiora and I were convinced his head was a rock."

Melia's smile faded. She pushed out of his hold, and edged towards the entrance. "Let us move onwards," she said brusquely. "Before Abaasy comes back." She crossed her arms tightly. Not waiting for a reply, she carefully inched towards the entrance, and jumped inside. Shulk followed.

A long descending corridor stretched ahead of them. They glanced at each other before Melia called out, "Hello?"

No reply.

Melia took the lead. The air was surprisingly fresh, cool even, but as they walked deeper, the walls retained more warmth like the residuals of an ancient Summon Flare. Their footfalls echoed with strange intensity while Silence watched disapprovingly. Despite only being an outpost, the place demanded a certain reverence. _Or face the consequences,_ she thought darkly. Trepidation made her fingers twitch.

Eventually the floor leveled into a plateau, and the corridor opened into a decently sized room that-

-was empty.

Melia pulled up short, causing Shulk to bump into her.

"Melia?" he asked tentatively.

"I don't understand." Save for the statue on the far end, the room was devoid of any traces of life. "I was so sure…I checked the coordinates. They _should_ be here!" A horrible thought budded in her.

Apparently the same thing occurred to Shulk. "Melia…" he trailed off uncertainly.

"No." She shook her head and rounded on him. "We found the headdress and the mask on the way here. They _had_ to have made it out of Alcamoth."

Shulk held up his hands cautiously. "I'm not saying they _didn't_ , but now is a good time to regroup-"

Barely listening, Melia started heading back the way they had come. Before she got too far, Shulk hurriedly stepped into her path, and grabbed her shoulders. "-let's take a break," he finished.

"There's no time-"

"Melia, we are literally stuck between a dragon and a hard place." He squeezed her shoulders. "We have time to eat. And after that, we can come up with a plan."

He didn't specify the plan, and Melia didn't press it. Tiredness suddenly weighed her down; on some level, she realized her behavior was becoming increasingly unpredictable. It certainly wasn't fair to Shulk. Bracing her forehead against her palm, Melia sighed. "Alright," she agreed dully.

They set up on the stone floor under the statue's watchful gaze. Shulk passed over some dried jerky strips and a water bottle. Melia nibbled her portion half-heartedly. They let silence consume the room, and Melia was left with her thoughts. Emperor Lumian the 47th had disbanded the Bionite Order, but like Vangs, they had stayed in the shadows to bide time. Eyes narrowing, her gaze swept the room. Two of the walls were dark gray, lending near absolute darkness. The wall behind the statue, probably once white, was a lighter gray, emphasizing the imperious stature of her forefather. _"The night is always darkest before the dawn,"_ her mother would say. Sin then salvation. Conversion.

A test.

She turned to relay her theory. Shulk, however, seemed more intent on the statue.

"I've seen this statue before," he murmured, inspecting it closer. "It looks older."

"Perhaps it's the original," Melia suggested. "Among the High Entia, I believe this statue is an obscure War God."

Shulk's eyebrow rose. "It can't be all that obscure. We found the same statue in three different places in Satorl Marsh."

"You forget the High Entia have confined themselves to the Head for many centuries now," Melia pointed out. "If this figure _was_ prominent, the reasons why were lost in the annals of time. Though considering where this one is located, we can assume the Bionite Order places great significance on it. Which isn't all that surprising." She muttered that last part to herself.

Shulk looked thoughtful. Brushing the food crumbs off his hands, he got up and strode over to the statue. He walked around the base, carefully studying it.

Melia quickly got their backpacks in order before joining him. "What are your thoughts?"

His head was craned back, eyes squinting. "Is it just me or is there writing on the head?" he asked, pointing.

"I cannot tell," Melia admitted.

"Alright. You might want to move."

"Why…?" She turned to see him backing up a few paces.

He flashed her a smile. "I don't want to kick you by accident." With a burst of speed, Shulk ran at the statue, propelling himself up with two steps. He quickly grabbed a stubby arm, and climbed the rest of the way fairly easy. Melia would've been impressed if it weren't for the wince she'd caught.

"Be careful!"

He coughed, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he reassured her. "There's just a lot of dust."

"What do you see?"

"Hold on." There was a pause. Melia shifted impatiently. Then, "There's writing, but I can't read it."

"Is it too faded?"

"No." Shulk turned and gingerly slid off the statue. "It's in a language I've never seen before."

"It may be in or have roots in my people's language."

"You should take a look then."

Melia eyed the statue. "I'm not the best climber."

"Here. You can sit on my shoulders." He knelt down.

 _Oh no._ Her breath quickened as did her heart rate. It was ridiculous how a childhood fear of heights plagued her _now_ of all times. They survived Abaasy, but she couldn't deal with this?

She took a step back. "I don't know if this is a good idea…"

"Why not?" Shulk twisted his head around to look at her. Melia avoided his eyes, staring at a point on his back instead.

"I could strain your injuries."

To her surprise, Shulk snorted. "I'm not made of porcelain, you know," he said dryly.

Melia's face flushed. "I meant no offen-"

"This might help us find the survivors," Shulk coaxed.

Loose hands clenched into fists, and Melia's spine straightened. Shulk was right. She had to do this. Her people were counting on her. What's more, Nymeria and Lucan were counting on her. She stepped forward, and braced her hands in between Shulk's shoulder blades.

Once again, she hesitated. Then her jaw tightened.

"Don't let me fall," she hissed fiercely.

"I won't."

Exhaling slowly, Melia swung her right leg over his shoulder. Shulk immediately grabbed her shin (Melia squeaked), and secured it against his chest. She brought her left leg over, and sat rather awkwardly on his shoulders. Was she supposed to sit this close to the back of his neck? Did she need to move back a bit or…?

"You can grab my head for balance," Shulk interrupted her thoughts.

And stood up.

Not expecting the shift, Melia gasped and slapped her hands down blindly.

"Grab my head, not my eyes!"

"Sorry!"

Instead, she wrapped her hands around his forehead. With Shulk's height, she was about level with the statue's chest now. A hole caught her attention; it was more of an indentation placed over the heart. Melia frowned, fingers tracing the edges. It looked vaguely familiar.

"Can you read it?" Shulk asked.

Melia shook her head and refocused, craning her neck back. There were definitely dark engravings on the head, but she could only just make them out. "Barely," she admitted while squinting. Inhaling deeply, she mentally prepared herself. "I'll need to stand."

"Grab onto the statue for balance," Shulk replied without missing a beat. "It's a lot sturdier than it looks."

"Alright." Gripping an arm, Melia carefully pulled herself up. Shulk transferred his grip to her ankles. It all felt unstable already. Her eyelid twitched. Standing, Melia was just below eye level with the statue. Squinting, fingers reached up and traced the writing on the forehead. It nagged her as she tried deciphering it. Where had she seen…? Her eyes widened. _The tomb!_

It made sense. La Luz Church was an old structure. It had probably been built in the glory days of the order where the line between religion and politics tangled freely. Where members of the order were valued court advisors to the Emperor. Where they had access to the royal language passed down through the imperial line.

Melia's hands clenched.

It felt bitterly unfair.

" _A filthy Homs half-breed has no right to the throne!"_

The female in the tomb…did she know the language? She had called herself Yumea's subject and Yumea had been the spearhead of the Bionite Order so it stood to reason. Consorts weren't taught the language; it was decreed that the ruler and only the ruler would pass down his or her knowledge onto their chosen successor.

Father never had the chance to set time aside.

"Melia?"

"I can't read it," she said bitterly. "Put me down."

As Shulk helped her down, her fingers caught on the indentation again.

It hit Melia.

"It's the same," she muttered.

"What?" Shulk looked at her puzzled.

She pointed. "On the chest. That indentation is the same shape as the lock outside."

"I don't suppose your mysterious employer gave you anything?"

"No." Melia shook her head. "Even if she did, I lost my bag on the upper level."

Shulk 'hmm-ed' in reply, stepping close to the statue. "Alright, so there's words on the head, and what I suppose is a keyhole on the chest." He walked around the statue, hands feeling and prodding. "I can't find anything else. This feels like a puzzle, but-"

"But there's too many pieces missing," Melia finished. Frustration festered within. Their only clue and they were stuck. "Damn it," she spat.

Shulk shot her an unreadable glance.

"What?"

"Nothing. I…" He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I've just never heard you curse before."

There was no judgement, yet Melia felt her face flush all the same. "Your point being…?" She crossed her arms defensively.

"Like I said, just surprised."

"I can swear!"

"Never said you couldn't."

"I'm pretty creative too." _Oh, for the love of- Let it go! Why are you still arguing?_

Unreadable morphed into amusement. "Oh?" Shulk crossed his arms and smiled, tilting his head back. "Like…?"

Her cheeks burned. In fact, the cool breeze felt _lovely_ \- "Air vents!" she blurted out.

Shulk raised a brow, lips twitching. "I don't think that's a swear word."

"No," she said, grabbing his arm and pointing all around. "Shulk, _air vents_."

Realization dawned in his eyes, and they swept around the room. He licked his thumb, and held it up. "There," he said after a moment of complete stillness. "In that corner." Shulk pointed.

Melia followed his finger. Across the statue in the left hand corner was the air vent. At first, it was difficult to make out, but then the edges faded in. She walked over, and craned her neck back. "Give me a lift."

Shulk made a foot hold with his hands. Melia carefully stepped into his hold while placing her hands on his shoulders for balance. He lifted her, and Melia clasped the edge and scrambled up. The vent was cool and slick; the texture felt wet, but when she swept her hand around, the clay-like metal was dry. She was forced to hunch even on her hands and knees. Based on the dimensions, Shulk would be able to fit, but they'd have to go single file. Relaying this to him, Melia then asked him to pass their bags up. That done, she offered her hand to him. Shulk took it, and hauled himself up with a grimace.

"C'mon," Melia whispered, nearly bursting from relief. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

They crawled through the vents for what seemed like a long time. It curved and straightened out, but there were no forks in their path. At times, the vent almost seemed to shrink, spiking her paranoia. She checked over her shoulder more than once to make sure Shulk was still following.

"I feel like a rat," she muttered.

"My lab back at Colony 9 used to have a rat problem."

"Oh? How'd you get rid of them?"

"Well," Shulk's voice was sheepish. "Dickson would smoke them out with poison."

Melia stopped to look at him. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"He had a gas mask on. They drove him crazy."

"Good." She turned back, and tried not to think about rats and poison.

It didn't work.

"Hey, does it feel like we're moving dow-"

Melia's hand slipped. With a yelp, she flew down the increasingly sloped vent, arms somewhat flailing.

Heart in throat, a light approached rapidly. Then she was falling, falling into a heap on the concrete ground. She landed on her bag awkwardly, left wrist splaying and twisting in the confusion. Wind knocked out of her, she could only lay prone. Racket above her, a yelp, and Shulk landed on top of her.

She wheezed/whined pathetically.

"Ow," Shulk muttered, shifting his weight. "I guess that answers my question, huh Melia?" A pause. "Melia! Are you alright?" He scrambled off her.

Groaning, she got up and cradled her wrist. "I'll be fine. But we're never taking that way again." No response. "Shulk?"

She turned her head to look at him, but cool steel pressed against skin, tickling her jugular.

"I wouldn't move, _sweetheart_."

* * *

"We're not supposed to play with you."

Lucan tilted his head. _Why not?_ They'd been getting along famously five minutes ago. It was by chance that Lucan had come across this group of friends playing in the park. At first, he had hung back to assess the situation like his father and Tyrea had drilled into him. The Homs boy with the blue headband, two littlepon with silly-looking hats, and the Homs girl with the pink hood….these were all kids that he caught glimpses of at the marketplace. Lucan had marveled silently, wondering if they'd let a fifth member join.

As if on cue, the girl had kicked the ball so hard it soared three feet over the yellow littlepon's head. It smacked into the wooden structure he hid beneath, rattling it like leaves in a strong wind.

Lucan was duly impressed. The girl had decent leg power. For a Homs anyway.

The ball had stopped a few feet to his right. As the yellow littlepon scurried over, Lucan waited until he was halfway there before stepping out, and deliberately scuffed his boots. Presence known, he was very aware of the littlepon's wide-eyed gaze as he bent down to retrieve the ball. He held it out and waited patiently.

The littlepon inched forward, and took the ball back shyly. He asked for Lucan's name. Lucan merely shrugged, and gestured to himself then at the others. The littlepon's gaze darted between them before his mouth parted in understanding. He was asked if he wanted to join. Lucan nodded.

The others had been a little annoyed, but everything smoothed over when he caught a fast ball from the girl without flinching. Things went well. Lucan was content.

Until his hood had fallen off.

It was a complete accident. Seeing that he could take it, the girl had no problem using him as target practice. Lucan would dodge or catch without fail, causing great amusement for the others. Even the girl would bite her lip, trying not to smile. Lucan wished she would. He bet she had a pretty one. Or a maniacal one. Either way.

A gleam entered her eyes as soon as the ball was passed to her. Lucan prepared himself as she wound up. It came fast and hard. His knees collapsed instinctively, and he leaned backwards. Rubber brushed the tip of his nose as it rushed overhead. Grinning, he scrambled to his feet and raced after it. Only when he returned did he notice the silence.

They were all staring at him.

A breeze ruffled his now-free wings. Lucan touched them self-consciously.

Head tilting, he tried smiling to reassure them.

But the Homs boy wasn't looking at him, –not in the eye at least – preferring to stare at a point over Lucan's shoulder. The littlepon huddled behind the boy, each gripping a leg like a lifeline as they peered at him uncertainly.

The boy shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry mate. Nothing against you _personally_ , but…" he trailed off.

The Homs girl with the pink hood crossed her arms, chin jutting out. Lucan observed how loose fingers clenched to hide tiny tremors. As she spoke, her voice was haughty, but her eyes tracked his movements warily. "We're not supposed to play with you winged freaks."

"Anna!" The Homs boy snapped.

"Oh come off it, Nikita," Anna shot back. "There's no need to sugarcoat it!"

"You don't have to be rude about it either!"

"It's the truth!" She turned her dagger glare onto her friend.

"You know what-"

"Guys," the yellow littlepon piped up.

"What Kiroki!" they both yelled.

Unperturbed, the yellow littlepon pointed at Lucan, his paw trembling. "His eyes are glowing."

Lucan hated the naked fear in their eyes. He felt in the spotlight, which was never a good place. Joining in had been a mistake. His fingers dug into the ball as his mouth twisted in frustration, unknowingly making his eyes flash.

"He's turning!" Kiroki shrieked. " _Run!"_

Lucan hurried towards them. That, too, was a mistake.

Nikita snatched up the nearest stick, and swung it two-handed. The blow caught him right in the face, slashing across his left wing. The force sent his head whipping to the side, and he stumbled and fell, landing on his right wrist awkwardly.

" _C'mon!"_ He heard through the ringing. Anna was tugging on Nikita's arm. Lucan thought he saw shock on his face as he stared at the makeshift weapon. " _Nikita, let's go!"_

"My ball!"

"It doesn't matter, Pama! It's just a ball!"

"Mamapon _gave it_ -" Whatever else was said faded. Rolling over, Lucan puked. Bile clung to the back of his throat. Done, he went limp. He watched the blurry figures dart away, kept watch long after their footsteps had faded into the wordless night.

He slowly got to his knees.

They were going to tell. His breath came out as hisses. _They were going to tell!_

Springing to his feet, Lucan snatched up the ball and sprinted after them. Even in the dark, their trail wasn't difficult to follow. He only slowed when it disappeared among other tracks in the marketplace. Eyeing the merry yellow light of the street lamps, he tugged up his hood before proceeding.

He matched the pace of the crowd, side stepping anyone who got too close. Dribbling the ball gave him an excuse to look at the ground. Two Homs kids' footprints on either side of tiny drag marks. _That one littlepon had put up a fight,_ Lucan mused. _He really wanted his ball back. I could bribe him to keep quiet._

Plopping down on a bench, Lucan watched the night crowd with seemingly lazy eyes. It wouldn't do to stand out. Blood seeped down the side of his neck. He absently wondered why there was such a crowd in the first place. Some sort of party – _adult_ party if the stumbling and puke was any indication. Semi-formal wear; a special event then.

A tiny gasp caught his attention. Across the street, he locked eyes with the blue littlepon for the briefest of seconds before he darted around the corner.

After a moment, Lucan followed. He noted the speed and direction the littlepon was running, and ducked into an alley. He ran with one hand tracing the wall. Left, right, right, left.

Lucan stepped out of the alley just as the blue littlepon skidded around the corner and bumped into him. "Sorry," he squeaked, shaking his head. "I wasn't looking where I was…" He got a good look at Lucan and stumbled back. " _You!"_ he gasped.

There was a stretch of silence as each one assessed the other.

"I-I'll scream if you do anything," the littlepon piped up bravely.

Lucan took a step towards him. He squeaked, but surprisingly held his ground. Shaking, but staring defiantly.

Then he noticed the ball.

"That's mine!" he snapped, bounding forward. "Give it back!"

No resistance was put up as the ball was snatched. In fact, Lucan was glad to be rid of it. He shoved his hands into his pockets, ignoring their slight trembles. They eyed each other warily. The littlepon shifted from foot to foot, expression torn.

Hesitantly, he gave Lucan a quick nod. "Thank you…?"

Lucan didn't respond, merely watching.

"I never caught your name before…" the littlepon tried again before trailing off. "I'm Pama."

Lucan nodded in acknowledgement.

"What's yours?"

Silence.

Pama bounced the ball to hide his awkwardness. "Uh, can you…I mean, uh, are you mute?"

Lucan shook his head, lips twitching.

"So you _can_ speak?"

A nod.

Frustration pursed Pama's mouth. "So why don't you?"

He looked off to the side, pondering. How could he explain it? It just _felt_ right. Meeting Pama's gaze again, he shrugged, twirling a hand around vaguely.

"Well, I think it's kinda rude!" Pama puffed up.

Lucan merely shrugged again. He held up four fingers, put down three, and pointed at Pama with the remaining one. Exaggeratedly, he looked around.

"You, uh, want to know where the others are?"

Smiling, Lucan nodded. The Nopon was oddly good at charades.

His smile faded as Pama glared at him suspiciously, clutching his ball tight.

"Why do you want to know?"

Playing with his jacket's zipper, Lucan pointed at the ball then let his hand drop.

"Huh?" The littlepon looked between him and the ball. "I...don't understand."

Yellow light bathed them as the tavern door swung open. Merry noise flooded out briefly before the door swung shut once more. Three drunken men – Homs men – stumbled around, throwing punches and laughing raucously.

"Outta th'way boy," one said, pushing Lucan aside roughly. He landed on his tailbone, head jarring.

"Pama!" another called out, panting. He was tall and heavyset, black curls wild and sweaty. "Whatcha doin' out and 'bout?"

Pama mumbled something Lucan couldn't hear. Despite that, he could tell from body language alone the Nopon was uncomfortable.

"Canna hear ya! Speak up!"

"I said I was walking home, Mr. Gigagio."

Mr. Gigagio looked at his friends. "Goin' home to Matryona! Lovely woman. Lovely, lovely curves. Small tits though."

The man who had pushed him snorted, brown bangs falling into his eyes. "Shut up, Bruno. You chase afta anythin' wit a hole. Surprised you haven't gotten a Volff yet."

"Too furry. Havta shave first." He stared off to the side, hands opening and closing as if fondling clay. "Whad ya think Matryona look like on all fou-"

"SHUT UP!" Pama screamed, throwing his ball hard. It ricocheted off Bruno's face with a satisfying _crack!_

The man stumbled back, tripping on unsteady legs. He ended up on the ground, blinking in confusion. "Whatja do tha' for?" Blood dripped down his nose.

The other two burst out laughing. "The pipsqueak nailed ya!" the brunet cackled, leaning against the wall.

Bruno scowled and hauled himself up. "Gimme that there ball, Pama," he snarled, holding out his hand while glaring at his friend.

"No!" Pama squeaked, scurrying back.

Bruno leveled his glare on the Nopon. "I _said_ gimme that there ball." He stormed in pursuit.

Lucan darted around the two men, and, with a swift move, kicked the back of Bruno's knee. Hard. The man kissed the ground once more, head cracking sharply. He lay there unmoving.

"Hey!" the brunet shouted. "Whass the big idea-?" He grabbed Lucan by the shoulder.

Mistake one.

With a dirty move Tyrea had taught him, Lucan grabbed his arm, yanking it forward. Once he could, he gripped the man's thumb and _twisted_ –

A shrill yelp. Letting go, Lucan calmly stepped out of range as the man sank to his knees, cradling his hand. _That's for pushing me._ He stood in front of Pama, stance proud and eyes uncompromising as they stared at the prone men. The wind ruffled his feathers.

Pama inched up, peering around him cautiously. "Where'd the third man go?"

Lucan blinked. _Third…_

The tavern door slammed open. "There's the monster!"

 _Monster?_ He reached up, feeling feathers. His hood had fallen off.

Mistake two.

Grabbing Pama by the paw, Lucan turned on his heel and sprinted. Pama, surprised, stumbled and tripped, but soon managed to keep pace.

"Where are we going?" he panted.

 _Away,_ Lucan thought. _Very,_ very _far away._

The crowd dogged their heels as they ran down the street. Very quickly, Lucan realized this wasn't going to work. He could run for hours; Pama had no such endurance training. Already the Nopon was huffing too hard, stumbling too much.

A glass bottle missed them by inches, shattering on the ground.

Lucan changed strategies.

Ducking into the nearest alley, he planned to lose them with a few turns and misdirection. It shouldn't be too difficult. They _were_ dealing with drunken folk.

 _Drunk people with really good aim,_ he reminded himself, remembering the bottle.

Legs burning, they skidded to a halt as they came to a crossroads. Lucan racked his brain frantically. If he recalled correctly, going left would take them to the residential district, while going right would lead them to the heart of the commercial district. Pama yanked him left with surprising strength.

"Matryona will hide us!" he gasped, eyes wild. " _C'mon!"_

Lucan hesitated. He was always told to hide in plain sight, but perhaps a refuge would be better. The shouts decided for him. He followed Pama down the alley. Picking their way carefully between trashcans and garbage bags, they came to their next problem.

A chain-linked problem standing at least twice Lucan's height.

"I forgot the fence was here!" Pama groaned. "What are we gonna do?"

Lucan tested the strength of the fence. Very sturdy, recently installed. He got a better grip and climbed, looking down at Pama expectantly.

The Nopon tried, he really did. But his progress was hindered by the ball he still carried. Lucan pointed at it and made chopping motion.

Pama stopped. "I'm not leaving it."

Lucan shot him an exasperated look.

"I'm _not_. It's all I have left of-"

More shouts. Lucan dropped down, and snatched the ball away.

" _Hey_ -" Pama jumped at him, face screwing up in a scowl.

Slapping a hand over the other's mouth, Lucan dragged him behind a pile of garbage just as light from a lantern shone down the alley. Boots – about ten pairs of them – lumbered by. They kept still, deathly still as voices grumbled at each other.

"Dead end."

"Where'd it _go_? It can't have gone far."

The cocking of a gun. Lucan and Pama shared a wide-eyed look.

"Well, wherever it went, it took Pama."

His grip tightened reflexively; Pama squeaked.

"What was that?"

"Rats. Damn bastards are almost as bad as those monsters Sharla's kid brother decided to house."

"He does have the backing of Otharon."

"Since when do we listen to a snot-nosed brat and an old fart?"

"Otharon is the-"

"-the general, yeah, yeah. Why don't ya kneel down and kiss his ass while you're at it?"

Inaudible murmuring.

"Ha! Some general! I lost my brother on the Sword because Otharon decided to help those winged freaks. Extermination can't come soon eno-"

The voices faded as footsteps moved away from their hiding spot. A moment later, Lucan released his hold on Pama numbly. His fingers landed in a pile of sticky goop, but he didn't care. He stared blankly at the opposite wall, tracking the cracks in bricks.

They honestly thought he kidnapped Pama. And all the things they said about the High Entia…

"Hey, are you okay?"

He caught the paw about to touch his face, and gently pushed Pama away. The Nopon flailed back slightly as Lucan stood. Picking up the ball, Lucan stepped up next to the fence and eyed it contemplatively. From the corner of his eye, he saw Pama draw closer, but the Nopon didn't try taking the ball. He actually looked a little uncertain, paws fidgeting with their wings.

"You know," he began, drawing Lucan from his thoughts. "We could always tell them you didn't take me. This is probably a misun…a misund…a mix-up!"

 _Misunderstanding, huh?_ Lucan slowly shook his head, which Pama took the wrong way.

"It _is_ , though!" he said, voice rising. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Truthfully, Lucan didn't understand it either. He didn't get why no one wanted to play with him or why he wasn't allowed near the marketplace alone. He didn't understand why Auntie Nymeria and Talonyth looked so worried all the time, and spoke in hushed whispers late at night. The man's words echoed in his head, and he tugged the tip of his right wing nervously.

Why did everyone hate them?

He looked in the direction where the men had gone, then at the ball in his hands. Despite the men "searching" for Pama, he didn't trust the man with the gun. Even if they did somehow manage to convince the men not to shoot, there was no promise they'd hold off indefinitely. Wariness crept up his spine, and took root as a lump in his throat.

Pama would never be safe with him around.

"Hey-" the Nopon tried getting his attention again. His hat sat askew on his head, fur puffed up and matted with sweat and garbage filth. Yet there weren't any traces of fear. He looked at Lucan with a mixture of curiosity, nervousness, and concern.

Lucan made his decision.

He hurled the ball over the fence. It crashed into what sounded like trash cans on the other side. In the distance, he heard shouting.

Pama stared at him in disbelief. "What'd you do that for?"

Lucan pushed him towards the fence.

Pama swatted his hands away, and began climbing. "Could've done that quieter," he grumbled under his breath. Then he paused, turning back to Lucan. "You coming?"

He shook his head.

"What? Why not?"

He didn't answer.

Pama's eyes narrowed. "Then where are you going?"

Smiling wanly, Lucan jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

"So, we _are_ going to talk to them?" Pama hopped down from the fence.

Lucan shook his head again. He pointed at Pama, then at the fence, making a shooing motion.

"What? No! I'm not leaving."

 _Why?_

Frustrated, he shoved the Nopon back to the fence. Stumbling, Pama quickly caught his balance, and stormed back over to Lucan. "I said _no_!" he shouted.

They didn't have time for this. The men were coming back; Pama had to _go_.

"We both go, or not at… _ack_!"

Grabbing the Nopon around the waist, Lucan hauled him to the fence and quite physically tossed him over. It was like shot put only with squeaking and squirming. Without checking to see if he landed safely, Lucan turned and ran. He slowed as he approached the mouth of the alley, back pressing against a wall.

Boot steps drew ever closer. Lucan stared at the opposite wall; mind oddly still as his stomach churned.

If it was a chase they wanted, Lucan would gladly give it to them.

Father always said he was fast for his age.

Lantern light slid across the ground. When it was close enough, Lucan stepped into the light with a calm he did not feel. Hood deliberately down, he stared challengingly at the startled men.

"Y-You! We heard screaming," the one in front stammered, blue eyes wide.

Another pushed to the front; Lucan recognized the pushy brunet from the bar. The dark steel of the gun contrasted sharply with pale skin. "What'd ya do with Pama?" he snapped.

The silence stretched. His stare never wavered, clearly making some men uncomfortable.

"Answer me!"

Without missing a beat, Lucan met his gaze calmly-

-and blew his tongue at him.

He sprinted away as the man spluttered. "G-Get him!"

And the chase was on.

* * *

Reyn was ready to punch a wall.

He hated feeling helpless. Hated it with an anger coiling tight in his gut. It was so hard controlling his temper at times. _You scared Melia,_ his mind whispered.

He scrubbed a hand over his eyes with low growl. He still felt terrible about it. She hadn't done anything, yet he _still_ … He hadn't wanted to go on that shopping trip at _all_ , but Sharla insisted, eyes tired and concerned. Mouth trembling, furrowed brow he wanted to reach out and smooth, but didn't dare because Sharla was still grieving, and it wouldn't be _right_ -

Knuckles greeted brick with enthusiastic force.

Reyn pulled back, and punched the wall again. And again. And again.

 _What is_ wrong _with me?_

"Enough." His wrist was caught.

"Dunban!" Reyn looked up with wide eyes. "Did you guys find Shu-"

Dunban shook his head.

"Then we need to keep looking," he snapped, yanking his hand back. Pacing like a caged animal, Reyn ran his hands through his hair, and tried calming down. Key word: _tried_. "I just don't get it! He's injured! He can't have gone far at all, yet we're still here twiddling our thumbs-"

" _Reyn_ ," Dunban cut in sharply.

Reflexively, Reyn fell silent.

Now that he had the redhead's full attention, he continued, "Riki, Fiora, and I searched Colony 6's perimeter three times. Otharon is telling people to keep an eye out. The Machina and Sharla are compiling a list of places he possibly could've gone in his condition. And Melia…" Dunban trailed off, shaking his head slowly. "She still hasn't come back."

Worry and guilt clenched in his gut. "You said she came back to Junks last night."

"And was gone by morning. She mentioned an acquaintance needing help, but I haven't heard from her since."

"But she's probably still in the colony somewhere." Reyn was going to go bald by the time his hands were done running through his hair. "Bloody…I need to apologize."

"Running yourself ragged won't help."

"Oh, like you're one to talk?"

Dunban smirked tiredly. "I'm your elder. I get a bit of leeway."

"Of what? Being a hypocrite?"

Dunban didn't answer, leaning back against the wall and peering up to the night sky. "We need to start strategizing."

"We _need_ to find Shulk first," Reyn countered, a little more forcibly than intended. "What good is a plan to beat Zanza if Shulk and the Monado aren't there?"

" _Replica_ Monado," Dunban corrected. "And we don't know if it even works."

"Sharla said the sword was gone along with Shulk. He probably took it with him to Bionis-knows-where."

" _If_ he took it." Dunban rubbed his forehead.

Reyn blinked. "How do you mean?"

"Was his disappearance even voluntary?"

"What, you mean kidnap?"

Dunban looked at him steadily. "Juju tells me the colony is getting restless."

"Please tell me you're not buying into this prejudice bull crap," Reyn groaned.

"I never said that." Dunban's eyes flashed and his voice turned cold. "Don't put words in my mouth."

"I…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "You're right. I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." A lump settled in his throat, and his entire posture just seemed to slump. "I…just want this all to be over," he confessed quietly.

He looked up when a hand landed on his shoulder. "We all want that," Dunban replied with a faint smile. Dark bags hung under his semi-red eyes; Reyn noticed he blinked long and slow as if trying to get his eyes to focus.

"Well, what I want is some chow," he said, holding his stomach and making a face. "I can't think on an empty stomach."

Dunban chuckled. "That _does_ seem to be the on switch."

"Yea- wait, _hey_!"

Laughing again, the older man pushed off the wall and brushed by.

"Just for that, I'm picking the pla-" As Reyn moved to follow, he stumbled as something collided with the back of his legs. "Whoa!" Arms flailing, he reached over to steady himself on the wall. "What the-?" he muttered, looking over his shoulder.

A bluish-purple littlepon bounced back to his feet, swaying a little. He shook his head, wings flapping wildly, and hat threatening to fall off. Reyn recognized him a split second after he squeaked, "Reyn!"

"Pama?" he asked in bewilderment. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

The littlepon didn't even seem to hear him as he clutched pawfuls off Reyn's combat pants. "Help," he wheezed, sounding like he'd just sprinted across Gaur Plains. "H-Help, p _-please_."

Kneeling down, Reyn placed a hand on the tiny back. "Breathe," he instructed calmly. "C'mon, in and out, that's it."

"They're gonna kill him!" Pama choked out as he tried breathing slower.

Reyn exchanged a puzzled look with Dunban. "Who?"

"I-I d-don't know h-his n-n-name, b-but there was a H-Homs with a g-g-gun."

"Is this person a High Entia?" Dunban asked carefully. Reyn's stomach clenched.

On the edge of hyperventilating, Pama could only nod frantically.

Reyn turned to Dunban as he stood. "Take Pama back to Sharla."

"If this turns into a riot, you shouldn't go alone," Dunban pointed out.

Reyn smiled wryly. "I got the shield," he said, tapping his weapon. "Might as well put it to use." _Maybe I'll actually protect someone this time._

Dunban's lips pursed; he was clearly reluctant. But Reyn ignored that, turning to Pama again. "Where Pama?"

"C-c-com-"

He was gone before the second syllable.

* * *

Finding the riot wasn't hard. All he had to do was follow the shouts and swears.

The marketplace, to put it lightly, was a disaster zone. It looked like a tornado had passed through. He hurried passed overturned food stands and destroyed vendor lots. Broken glass from ether lamps lay strewn alongside scattered merchandise. There were patches of red Reyn sincerely hoped was Ketchup or runny sauce.

A scream, high-pitched and in _pain_ … nearly drowned out by numerous _laughs_ …

He ran the rest of the way. The crowd came into view, and it was big. It seemed like half the colony was there. Pushing his way through, he ignored the grumbles and shoves back. He got to the front, and all he could do was stare for one gob smacked moment.

They had a _kid_ cornered against the wall, pelting him with fruits and vegetables.

Reyn saw red.

* * *

A clang pierced through all the noise.

The target practice ceased, and the crowd quieted, voices murmuring to each other like a hive.

Lucan peeled open one swollen eye and stared.

A Homs man stood with his back to him, facing the crowd with what appeared to be some sort of shield.

And he looked very, _very_ angry.

"What the bloody hell is _wrong_ with you people?" the redhead roared. "He's a bloody _kid_!"

Lucan had to wonder if he meant that literally. Blood seeped down his forehead into his right eye. His back throbbed. He flinched as several people started talking at once.

"You can't trust 'em winged freaks!" a man shouted. "They'll turn on you as soon as your back is exposed."

Agreement rippled through the crowd.

"We just want to protect our colony," a woman said reasonably.

"Protecting?" the redhead spluttered. "You call _this_ protecting?"

"Nip the problem in the bud," the same man said. "We know they turn into those green monsters."

 _Monster._

Cold washed into Lucan's stomach. What happened if they convinced his unexpected savior? How would he escape then? His back was to the wall literally, and escape was impossible. _Not impossible,_ his father would say. _There's no such thing. Take in your surroundings and_ think _!_

But focusing was hard. Eyes darting everywhere, Lucan could only see the angry faces and defensive stances. Breathing quickened. The world tilted.

He had to get out. He had to.

Using the wall, Lucan shoved himself up. His back _hurt_. Whimpers may have escaped in the haze because he caught the quick glance the redhead shot at him.

" _Look_ ," his savior growled. "If you want the kid, you'll have to go through me first. And trust me when I say this-" Eyes narrowed into slits as veins bulged in his neck. " _I don't like bullies."_

The crowd threw nervous glances at each other. They shifted from foot to foot, and Lucan watched with baited breath as a few people in the back left. He looked at the redhead in awe. He must've been really powerful or influential. As more people left, a couple of men stepped forward.

"You Colony 9 folk have a lot of nerve," the first man said, cracking his knuckles. "You think you can just tell us how to run our colony."

"If _this_ is your idea of running a colony, then you _do_ need someone to tell you how to play nice," the redhead said, sliding into a ready stance.

" _Enough!"_ The roar slashed through the crowd. A grizzled, dark-skinned man pushed his way through, followed closely by a younger man with long dark hair. Lucan pressed harder against the wall. The former looked _livid_.

"G-General!" the instigator stammered just as the redhead cried out, "Otharon!" They both quieted when glacial eyes swept over them, unconsciously straightening.

Lucan hardly dared breathe.

"Would one of you mind telling me _why_ a riot destroyed part of the commercial district?" The general's voice was whiplash.

It was clear which one was a soldier. The redhead snapped to attention as the instigator flinched.

"These guys-," he said, gesturing at the crowd with his shield. "-are bonkers. They attacked a kid."

The general's head turned minutely, glasses flashing, and stared directly at Lucan. _Pull up your hood! Do it!_ But his hands wouldn't move; he was frozen, eyes wide and breath shallow. Every bit of sweat suddenly weighed a ton, adrenaline swelling veins, heart clogged close to cutting off all functions, bladder loosening-

The general looked away.

Ten seconds. Within ten seconds, Lucan had felt like he was dying. The wall became support.

It was all the support he really had.

"Where's Sharla?" the general was asking.

"Back on Junks," the redhead answered.

"Good." The general turned to his companion. "Dunban, you and Reyn take the kid back to Junks. I want a _word_ with everyone else here."

"But-" the redhead, Reyn, protested.

Dunban cut his eyes at Reyn, and shook his head. Wisely, Reyn shut up.

"What are you still doing here?" the general barked. "Go!"

"Alright, alright," Reyn muttered. "Yeesh." Shield folding, he slung it on his back and adjusted the sling. "Let's go, kid," he called over his shoulder.

Lucan didn't move.

"Kid?" Reyn crouched in front of him, trying to meet his eyes. Lucan kept his own firmly on the ground. His whole body felt odd.

The rustle of cloth as someone else approached. "He may be going into shock," Dunban said quietly.

 _Shock? Like surprise?_ Father once said too much surprise was bad for the body. Was he dying? If he was…he honestly couldn't bring himself to care.

A hand waved in front of him and Lucan cringed. Finally, _finally_ his eyes drew up, not exactly seeing, but looking. Steady brown greeted him. "C'mon," Reyn murmured. "We ain't going to hurt you. Our friend Sharla will fix you up."

He didn't offer any resistance when the redhead touched his shoulder, and tugged him forward. He didn't protest when Reyn draped an arm over his shoulders. He didn't acknowledge the heavy tension in the air. He didn't _do_ anything as they left district. No escape, nothing.

Tyrea would've been disappointed.

* * *

"Alright, I'm, uh, going to find you some new pants," Reyn said awkwardly, rolling his shoulder.

Lucan sat on the examination table, staring at the ground unresponsively. When they boarded Junks, it hadn't taken long for his savior to smell urine. Honestly, Lucan didn't even notice he had soiled himself. His mind felt far, far, far away from his body, senses dull.

Dunban had broken away as soon as they reached the gangplank, heading towards another approaching group – a Nopon and a blonde female. It only just registered the female had a machine body when the door hissed shut.

"Right," Reyn said again. "You just stay put. No one will hurt you. You're safe." Footsteps paused as the door slid open. "I'll be right back."

Humiliation, hot and heavy, crash landed the moment the door shut. Lucan pulled up his hood, and put his head in his hands, trembling. He was so useless! Never before had he felt more helpless, more afraid in his life. Why didn't he listen to Talonyth and Auntie Nymira when they forbade the marketplace? Why didn't he _ever_ listen?

Father was always quick to discipline. Some would say he was faster giving out full critiques than just straight compliments. Some would even say he had a Telethia's mind reading power. Lucan believed it. Father always appeared when Lucan and his friends' plans went awry.

So where was he now?

Carefully, he slid off the examination table and padded across the room. In the far corner was a desk, and he slid under it, pressing against the wall. His back stung, but he didn't care. Drawing his knees up, he buried his face in an arm, the other one hanging uselessly on the floor. Mouth twitching, throat burning, small hiccups escaped him. Cheeks became wet.

He missed his father.

 **To Be Continued...**


End file.
